


I Dream of Castiel

by Lusciousinpain



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Genie/Djinn, Astronauts, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Magic Revealed, Porn With Plot, Top Castiel, Top Dean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-02
Updated: 2014-06-27
Packaged: 2018-01-17 22:21:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 23
Words: 148,732
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1404604
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lusciousinpain/pseuds/Lusciousinpain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Ahhh!” he yelps, dropping the bottle as if burned when pale blue smoke erupts from the opening. He stumbles back, tripping over a rock and falls heavily onto his backside. </p><p>He props himself on his elbows, eyes fixed on the smoke that now, impossibly, seems to be taking on the form of a human body. He gapes, completely agog, as the smoke completely clears revealing the most beautiful man he’s ever seen in his life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Man in the bottle

**Author's Note:**

> I did a bit of research into the world of the djinn. If any of it is off, I apologize profusely and hope my work didn't offend anyone in the djinn community.  
> It goes without saying that I own nothing and only wanted to lovingly portray my favorite fictional characters. I hope you all enjoy!
> 
> This work is complete and I will be posting three times a week, hopefully, Monday, Wednesday and Friday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Ahhh!” he yelps, shocked when pale blue light erupts from the opening and drops the bottle as if burned. He stumbles back, tripping over a rock and falls heavily onto his backside. He props himself on his elbows, eyes wide and firmly fixed on the thickening funnel of smoke that now seems to be taking on the form of a human body. He gapes, completely agog because when the smoke finally clears, standing in its place is the most beautiful man he’s ever seen.

Dean’s jittery, antsy, unable to sit still, intermittently chewing and licking his lips, nerves kicking up a notch with every passing minute he, and the other astronauts in his team, wait to learn which one has been chosen to go on their first solo mission, into outer space.

“Dude, will you please calm down?” Sam hisses. “Seriously, stop. You’re not making a very good case getting yourself all worked up over this, okay?”

Dean glares at his brother, envying the confidence and casual air in his posture while he sits and waits for the announcement. "How the fuck are you so calm?" he spits out, wondering at the mischievous glint in his brother's eye.

Sam glances his way, smirking, but the sight of Dean looking so drawn and pale softens what he’s about to say. "Dean, I'm calm because I know it's not my time to go. I'm not the best person for this mission." he shrugs, accepting it as fact, reclining further in his chair and lacing his fingers behind his neck.

"How can you say that?" Dean asks in disbelief. "You’re the smartest guy here. You're a freaking genius, and the best pilot. If anyone's gonna get picked it's you, bro." he insists.

Sam smiles warmly at his brother’s praise but shakes his head, not quite understanding how Dean, the one person he's idolized his whole life, could have such low self esteem. Not for the first time does he resent his father's relentless drilling of perfection at any cost into his brother.

"Um, yeah, thanks Dean. But I can think of someone here who’s smarter than me, and not just in books.” He shakes his shaggy head when all he gets is a confused stare in return. “Dean, whoever gets picked for this mission has to have the whole package." He holds his hand up and starts counting off. "Instincts, reflexes, troubleshooting skills, initiative, stamina, fearlessness. And yeah, he has to be able fly the damn thing."

"Who the hell are you talking about? Benny?" Dean asks, looking over his shoulder at the dozing figure of his good friend behind him. He grins and smacks him soundly on the thigh, startling him awake. "Wake the fuck up, man."

"D’fuck, Dean?" Benny snarls, but with no real heat. "Been up all night with Charlie working on that goddamn capsule of yours." He fixes Dean with a sleepy glare, rubs a hand roughly over his face, stretches, and yawns loudly. "Went over and over all the systems checks to make sure your baby gets you there and back safely." He complains.

_‘Wait, what? Capsule of mine? There and back? N'ah, can’t be.’_

"Jesus H-Lord, am I the only person here that's a little bit anxious?" Dean huffs. Turning back to Sam, he asks, "Seriously Sam? Okay, so it's not Benny. Jo? I mean 'cause, I can totally see that."

_'Not that it would be fair.'_ he thinks. _'But when has my life ever been fair?'_

When all he gets for his remark is an exaggerated eye-roll from Sam, he whispers, "Dude, she kicked my ass on the obstacle course. And in the boxing ring. And the wrestling mat. Underwater training. The basketball court. Track." He looks down hoping to hide how red his face must be getting, and adds glumly "And Mario Brothers.”

"And don't you forget it, Winchester!" Jo yells from across the room, smiling smugly and blowing him a kiss that earns her snickers from the other trainees.

Dean leans further down into his chair scowling, answering her catcalls with his middle finger. "And she bested me in the hearing tests too." he concedes.

Before Sam can offer his brother a few words of comfort, two heavily medaled officers walk in.

The first man is their chief psychiatrist, Colonel Singer, the one person with veto power over the General. His ‘take no bullshit’ attitude and uncanny ability to see straight to the heart of every one of his men, earned him the utmost respect and admiration from them.

Following close behind, is the General himself, John Winchester, Dean and Sam’s father, the one man that inspires not only awe and respect, but also fear in Dean.

"Attention" A Lieutenant yells and everyone in the room shoots to their feet, all laughter and teasing ceasing instantly. “At ease men." the General orders. "Oh, and ladies." He corrects, smiling warmly towards Jo.

"Right, so I'm sure you all know that today is the day I pick one of you for this assignment. This solo mission." He stresses. "Let's get one thing clear right from the start, the person I have chosen has been thoroughly evaluated in all of the fields pertinent to this assignment by me, the good doctor here." He nods to the Colonel, "And by a vast and varied team of scientists, engineers, and experienced astronauts.

"Sending a man alone into space is the exception not the rule at NASA. It's a dangerous business and has to be handled with great respect and seriousness.” He pauses for a moment and scans the room, looking at each and every one of the candidates in the eye until he gets to Dean, stopping to hold his son's gaze for a few torturous seconds before resuming.”Do you have anything to add Colonel?"

The Colonel coughs, clearing his throat loudly. "Now, just because only one of you gets to go up, doesn't mean the rest of you are off the hook. All of the training that we have put you through this past year will be vital to the success of this mission."

He holds up a form and goes to tack it up on a cork-board that's covered with announcements, fliers with advertisements, work schedules, listings for housing, and an assortment of other interests.

"On this form you will find your name, and next to it will be your assignment. I expect nothing but the best from each and every one of you. Congratulations to you all." He barks out.

"Very well then, I expect you all to report for your assigned duties promptly at o-seven-hundred," Pause. "Monday morning."

The General's announcement fills the room with a thrum of excited energy and beaming faces happy with his gift of a four-day leave.

As soon as the General and Colonel exit, the recruits rush towards the board, eager to learn what their future has in store.

Sam has never been happier to be a six-foot four gigantor, than he is at this moment. He finds his and Dean's names easily. Reads their assignments and turns to face his brother.

Dean, still in the same spot, stares over to him. _Well?_ he mouths.

Sam shakes his head sadly, lower lip pouting, but when the sight of his crestfallen brother becomes too much to bear, perks up and yells at the top of his lungs, "Dean Winchester, assignment, solo mission pilot!"

The room erupts into cheers and whistles joining Sam’s boisterous hoots and clapping.

"Congrats, Dean" Sam says hugging his brother tightly. “You deserve this, man."

When he pulls back, Dean sees pride in his brother's eyes. It humbles him.

"You're the ' _other person'_ I was talking about earlier, you moron." Sam grins.

"You knew? You little shit." Dean says dumbstruck.

Sam's smile gets impossibly wide and shrugging, pushes Dean into the arms of the gathering crowd.

"Heh, must be a typo." Dean comments humbly, smiling hugely as he's passed from embrace after embrace by his fellow teammates.

…

The next morning, nursing a pounding headache, battling waves of nausea, and deeply regretting accepting every celebratory shot offered to him, Dean staggers down the stairs to his kitchen where he finds his brother and father having breakfast and speaking in hushed voices. They fall silent, breaking into matching grins, when they spot him.

"'Morning, son." His father greets affectionately.

"Hey Dean, lookin' good bro." Sam smirks. "Rough night?" He snorts.

Hangover or no, Dean pounces on his brother, knocking him out of his chair, easily getting him in a headlock.

"Sam, leave Dean alone." John chuckles. "Dean, come get some food. It'll make you feel better, son"

Dean leans heavily on Sam a moment longer, then laughing and feeling slightly better, releases him.

"Ow! Watch it Dean, my hair got caught in your ring." Sam grumbles, squinty-eyed and rubbing the sore spot on his head.

"It's what you get when you mess with NASA's ace pilot, bitch." Dean pants triumphantly. "Maybe it's time you let me take a pair of clippers to your locks, Rapunzel. Little off the top? A foot off the length?" he teases.

"Jerk." Sam mutters under his breath, getting back to  his already cold breakfast, self consciously running tentative fingers through his hair.

"Enough, Dean get over here, I wanna have a word."

Dean snaps to attention at his father's serious tone. He looks over at him, trying to read the look on his face, dreading what the General might say.

_That it was a mistake. That he miscalculated. That Dean doesn't have the right stuff, after all. That he hasn't earned the top spot and won't be the one to go into space._

Dean takes a steadying breath and joins his father at the table.

"Don't look so worried, Dean. I just want to go over a few details about the mission that you boys haven't been briefed on yet." John explains, patting Dean's hand, reassuringly.

"Yes sir. Ah, what details are those?" Dean asks, more confident now, his curiosity piqued.

"Dean, this mission isn't only about leaving Earth's atmosphere to catalog trajectories, map out distances between us and comets or asteroids or whatever else you might spot. It's also NASA's last ditch effort to show America, the world even, that the space program is vital to a brighter stronger more technically advanced society. We need this flight to be a success. I can't stress that enough."

Dean's heart thumps heavily from the building pressure. He’s known all along the enormity of this mission and the high stakes riding on its success. He also knows it's the most important thing he'll ever do. But hearing his father's warnings and expectations, put into words, directed specifically at him, leaves him gasping for air.

_‘I’m not enough. I’ll fail’_

He desperately wants to shake those thoughts, but they're imbedded. He wants to tell his father he picked wrong, that he can’t do it, but what he says instead is, "I'll do my best sir."

He swallows thickly, mouth still stuffed full of cotton from last night's drinking. "But, why me?” he asks before he can stop himself. “I mean, there are lots more qualified candidates."

“Dean, man-“

Dean holds up his hand when both John and Sam begin to protest. "Let me finish. I'm not trying to put myself down. Believe me I know how awesome I am." He smirks. "But you both gotta admit, some of the other guys are just as capable, heck, even more than capable than I am." he insists.

"God, Dean, we've been over this." Sam argues, annoyed at his brother’s stubborn self-loathing. "I don't know what else I can say-"

"Dean, the reason you were chosen,” John cuts in quietly. "Is because even though other pilots may have what it takes, in most departments, they still lacked the one major component essential for a solo astronaut." He pauses and lets his words sink in.

"Your give em hell attitude, Dean. Ow, Dad!" Sam yelps, stepping out of John's reach before his father can whack him again for his smart-ass comment.

"Sam, I thought we talked about this." John reminds him, withering glare quieting his younger son. “We're here to support your brother through this. Behave, or it'll be you I send into outer space, sans rocket." He warns, but all three men laugh at the empty threat.

“Dean, it’s your dogged determination.” John finally answers. “I know you'll never give up. Your uncanny problem solving skills will get you through this mission successfully. The eyes of the world will be on you, son. Some more important than others.” He comments ominously. “I know you’ll do us all proud. It’s your time and I have a feeling your life will never be the same after this mission.”

Dean lets out a long shaky breath, humbled by his father’s praise and feeling the proudest he’s ever been. “I won’t let you down, sir.” He swears with all his heart.

…

Dean wakes up the day of the mission feeling oddly calm. He’s been running nonstop, training relentlessly, going over and over his flight’s trajectory, covering every possible outcome, tackling every scenario with a fierceness and determination that left him confident in his preparedness.

Now that the day of the mission has finally arrived, he feels confident, sure in himself and his team. So good, in fact, that he makes a huge breakfast, including eggs, bacon and pancakes, with all the trimmings for himself and his brother.

“Hey, Sammy, breakfast's on.” He yells. 

“Wow Dean, sure you made enough?” Sam can’t help but comment on the enormous portions. “You know, you’ll have to fit into that flight suit, bro. You eat all this, and I don’t know...” he reaches over to pat his brother’s stomach, and winces. “Feels a little soft there.” he taunts, finger poking the taut muscle, eye-brows coming together with a look of dire seriousness.

“Dude, you’re full of shit, and you know it.” Dean pulls his shirt up and runs his hand up and down his tightly chiseled torso. “You’re just jealous ‘cause I’m cut like a friggin’ Greek god, man. And those are Lisa’s words, not mine!” he boasts, finger wagging annoyingly in Sam’s face.

“Yeah, gross. Not really the image I want, especially before breakfast.” Sam counters.

“Heh, serves you right. Now shut your pie hole and eat.” Dean orders.

While he's busy serving up their dishes, Dean’s mind wonders. It occurs to him that this might be his last meal with his brother. Shit, it might be his last meal, period.

“Dean, you okay?” Sam asks, breaking into Dean’s thoughts. “You’re gonna be fine.” he replies, easily reading his brother’s worries.

 _‘Damn!’_ Dean can’t help but feel self-conscious. He’s mildly disturbed at his brother’s innate ability to always know what’s on his mind, but ultimately grateful that he’s not allowed to wallow in self-pity.

“You know this mission backwards and forwards. Nothing can go wrong.” Sam reassures.

Dean hopes he’s right.

…

At NASA, Colonel Singer takes Dean aside to ask the same battery of questions he’s been asking Dean since he was assigned the top spot.

“Don’t roll yer eyes at me boy. And don’t huff.” He warns, cuffing Dean on the head for good measure. “It’s called protocol, okay. So, just answer like a good soldier so we can get this show on the road.”

“Jeez, okay Bobby, I mean sir.” Dean corrects quickly when Bobby throws him his most threatening glare.

“Humph, that’s what I thought. Alright then, shall we start your highness?”

…

“All systems check here, Charlie.” Dean replies to the engineer’s prompt.

“Come on Dean, I need to hear it one atta time.” She gripes. “Go over the list I gave you. Now start.” “

"Sorry ‘bout that. Computer’s systems, check, fuel systems, check…” he cranes his neck to study the left side of the farthest panel, but he’s so tightly strapped in, he misses the faint light blinking in warning. “Ah, solar panel’s systems check.” He assumes. _Heck, it’s been in perfect_ _working order all this time_ , he justifies. _It’s not likely to break down now,_ he muses and continues going down Charlie’s list.

“That’s all systems, Charlie.” he states, after checking off the last item on her list.

“Okay, great, Dean.” She confirms.

“Yeah, brotha.” Benny pipes in. “Now that you’re done with the easy part, sit back, relax and let us real men do all the heavy lifting.”

“Dude, who let you near the controls?” Dean asks with an exaggerated groan, secretly pleased, nonetheless, that his good friend is watching out for him and his capsule. “I will beat you into next week if this baby gets so much as a scratch.” He mock threatens.

“Don’t worry, Captain, you’re in good hands. Now shut your whiny trap and let me do my job. Jesus, you’re acting like she’s made outta porcelain.” Benny growls.

“Yeah, and if you break her, I break you-“

Charlie’s loud ear shattering cough into the mike breaks up their banter before it can escalate into an all out shouting match. When she’s met with blessed silence from both ends, she calmly says, “Count-down is about to commence, gentlemen.”

…

“Nine, eight, …” 

While the computer counts down, Charlie continues monitoring all systems, checking and re-checking for any missed flaws, confirming that all systems are still a go. When the computer hits six she receives a signal warning her that a solar panel is not aligning properly and is in serious danger of being torn off after blast off.

Alarmed, she rushes to abort the mission, but she’s too late. The clock hits zero and the rocket’s computer automatically ignites the fuel that propels the ship into the sky.

“We have ignition.” The ship’s computer states.

“No!” Charlie yells.

…

The thrust and pressure that hits Dean, leave him momentarily winded. He recovers quickly, however, and the blaring and wailing of the alarms spur him into action. 

Years of grueling training have given him finely honed reflexes. He immediately sets about reversing his course, overriding the computer so that he can guide the capsule back to earth manually.

But just as the rocket hits mach 1, Dean feels the ship shudder in its course and hears the loud wrenching sound of the damaged solar panel tear from its side, sending the ship spiraling out of control. He unfastens his shoulder harness and lunges for the back-up heat shields. The resounding screech and grind that assaults Dean’s senses once he hits the switch, assures him that the problem has gone from bad, to worse.

“Oh shit!” he yells when the capsule begins convulsing all around him. “No, baby, no! Come on girl, keep it together for daddy!” He pleads, body bucking violently in his seat.

He feels helpless, unable to move from the centrifugal force plastering him against his chair. The unyielding pressure leaves him lightheaded, dizzy, with dark spots appearing before his eyes, and he loses consciousness.

…

He wakes in the capsule, unsure how long he’s been unconscious, hoping it’s only been minutes, dreading that it might have been hours. Head pounding, body feeling as if he’s gone ten rounds with a very pissed off moose, he groans. He's hurting all over, but it's the pain of being banged up badly, not of broken bones.

He struggles to unbuckle himself from the seat’s restraints, all the while muttering a litany of curses. His seat is leaning sharply in a diagonal, so when the last belt comes undone, he falls with a heavy thud.

Dean shakes himself, trying to clear his fuzzy head, concussion he thinks, and staggers to the capsule’s door. The latch won’t give. "Fuck my life!" he curses loudly.

The panic that he’s been able to successfully ignore, up until now, has finally started to take a firm grip on him. His mind races with thoughts of being permanently trapped and unable able to free himself. He needs to get out and take stock of the exterior damage, to get his bearings, to send out a distress flare, and any number of other responses from the laundry list of procedures to follow in case of this very specific outcome.

The sheer magnitude of his very dire situation has him breaking out in a cold sweat, with this first taste of real fear settling heavy in his gut. He closes his eyes, taking several deep breaths, and through gritted teeth snarls, "Fuck this bullshit; dad didn't pick me for my good looks. Okay, focus Dean, you know what you have to do."

With renewed determination, he rechecks the locking mechanism to the latch door. When it refuses to respond to the computer's prompt, which is still miraculously operating, if only partially, he moves to grip the door lever and tries to open it manually. He pulls off with a grunt, panting and frustrated at how useless his efforts have been when the door stubbornly refuses to budge.

“Goddamnit!” he curses. “I _wish_ this fucking thing would fucking open already!”

He’s bent double, hands on his knees, and takes a moment to catch his breath. He steels himself, and with one last burst of effort, uses all his body’s weight to kick the door open. _Probably end_ _up breaking my friggin foot,_ he expects.

He positions himself before the door, leaning back, leg raised, and kicks. But before his foot makes contact with the door, it flies open of its own accord. “Fuck me!” He yells, pin wheeling out of the opening, grasping at empty air, and trying to stop himself from hitting the ground and inevitably cracking his skull open.

“Oomph!” He grunts on impact.

Fortunately, for his skull, it’s soft sand he’s landed onto face first, and not the jagged boulders he can make out in his periphery. He gingerly raises his bruised head, taking in the sound of crashing waves, the smell of salt in the air, and of course, the sand that broke his fall, realizing that he's landed on a beach.

 _'But which beach? Where the fuck am I?_ '

He crawls to the water's edge, splashing himself with the clear cold water, immediately relieved with the great job it does in clearing his head. He pulls his space suit off, not sure if it’s the heat of the sun, or the nausea in his gut that has him breaking out in a cold sweat. Now clad only in t-shirt and shorts, he settles on his haunches to let the warm tropical breeze soothe him.

Feeling more grounded, he tries standing up, and on shaky legs, scopes out the landscape. He glances up at the sun and sees that from its current position he has landed west of where he started. In other words, he's fucking lost.

“Can’t fucking believe I crashed.” He grumbles, shakes his head in disgust and turns to head back to the capsule, stopping when he's blinded by the reflection of something metallic in the sand.

“What the…?” He asks himself bending down to get a better look at the shiny object. He swipes at the sand partially covering what appears to be the head of a bottle. Grabbing it, he pulls, surprised at how easily it comes out. “Hm, surprised you haven’t washed away already?”

Dean’s immediately enchanted with the beautiful and intricate etchings winding their way around the bottle’s body. He squints, trying to read the tiny script. “What’s this, Arabic?” He guesses, and absentmindedly starts rubbing off the powdery grains that still cling to it with his hand.

“Ahhh!” he yelps, shocked when pale blue light erupts from the opening and drops the bottle as if burned. He stumbles back, tripping over a rock and falls heavily onto his backside. He props himself on his elbows, eyes wide and firmly fixed on the thickening funnel of smoke that now seems to be taking on the form of a human body. He gapes, completely agog because when the smoke finally clears, standing in its place is the most beautiful man he’s ever seen.

Dean's loud gasp draws the man's attention. The stunning creature tilts his head down, zeroing in on Dean, pinnig him in place with impossibly blue eyes.

Dean gulps, suddenly short of breath. “Gah”, he gahs, “What the-" He begins to ask, immediately silenced when the gorgeous man kneels before him.

Dean takes in his appearance, marveling at the ridiculousness of his ensemble: deep blue silk pants riding perilously low on sharp hipbones and pointy toe navy slippers. That's it. Nothing else. But Dean can't complain since it leaves an unobstructed view of the man’s finely muscled torso and smooth tan flesh begging to be marked. _'Whoa, where the hell did that thought come from?!_

Unfortunately, or fortunately, depending on how you look at it, Dean’s thoughts turn significantly dirtier when his gaze travels down the man’s treasure trail, a fine dark path that starts just below his bellybutton, and disappears below his waistband. Dean, unconsciously, licks his lips, internally thanking the stranger’s tailor for making pants loose enough to sit so dangerously low.

“Sayyid.” The man says, his voice a rough rasp from disuse. He drops to his knees, lowers his head and places his palms together as if in prayer.

A moment later he’s looking up, and once again, Dean is frozen in place from his electric gaze. “Habibi” he purrs and crawls into the open vee of Dean’s sprawled legs.

Dean’s in shock, unable to comprehend the sight of this man slinking on hands and knees towards him, whimpering when their lips connect. The kiss is tender, reverent, but quickly becomes deeper when Dean’s downstairs brain decides that it’s high time he introduced himself to the beautiful stranger.

“Mmuph…” Dean hums and grabs him by the neck, kisses him back with growing enthusiasm, moaning loudly when the man's insistent tongue parts his lips, dick jerking happily with the way this particular fantasy is unfurling. 

_'But wait, this isn’t right, or even real.’_ Dean argues.

“Whoa, hold on…let me…” Dean gasps, pulling free from the enticing stranger’s grasp, not really wanting to, but this shit is freaking him out too much and he can’t let it continue without first getting some answers.

“Hold on, buddy, hold it a sec. Um, just now, you said something.” He tries to ask, all the while dodging the other man’s very distracting lips, chuckling at how adorable and fucking hot this mystery man is while he perseveres to get back into Dean’s arms.

“Wha-what, tell me what you said.” When the reply is a series of soft whimpers and groping, Dean tries again. “Sayyid, right? And, habibi? That what you said? Is that Arabic?” He asks slowly, clearly, holding the stranger at arms lenghth.

“Na’am, anta hal habibi sahib, wa ana djinn.” The man says and the deep throaty rumble of his sexy-as-fuck voice cranks Dean's arousal up a knotch. He huffs impatiently, plush bottom lip pouting at Dean's denseness, and throws himself back at Dean with renewed fervor, straddling his lap and wrapping his arms around the astronaut's neck.

 _Fuck this is so hot_ , Dean thinks and wraps his arms around the delicious creature in return. “Listen,” he sighs, “God..., please, slow down. I don’t understand what you’re saying." He gasps, frustrated, needing to at least know the guy's name before this goes any further. "I _wish_ you could speak English.” He moans between kisses.

And just like that, the man’s fervent assault ceases, doubling Dean's level of shock at the abrupt change in his behavior.

The mystery man climbs slowly off Dean's lap, wide smile gracing his beautiful face, eyes playful and sparkling. He sits back on his haunches, and says, "Yes, Master, your wish is my command."


	2. I Dream of Dean

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Yes Master. I’m yours to do with as you please.” Castiel agrees, digging blunt nails into Dean’s sides, leaving behind pale red tracks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, like I said, this work is complete, but the editing is kicking my coolie, but good!  
> Please let me know if I messed up too badly.  
> Enjoy and thanks for reading!
> 
> Went back in to re-edit. Hope it reads better.

Dean’s jaw drops, dumbfounded by the beautiful creature before him. “You…you can speak English?” He stammers.

“Yes, Master, of course.” The strange man replies, brow quirking at Dean's confusion. "I can do anything you want me to. Anything.” He stresses voice deep and throaty, tongue flicking out to moisten his lips. “You need only wish it." He purrs and slinks back towards the astronaut, stopping to press their foreheads together, hands reaching up to roam freely over Dean’s body.

“Ah…great?”

 _‘A dream, yeah, this is definitely a dream. A fucking awesome hallucination probably brought on by the knock on my head.’_ Dean rationalizes.

"Anything I wish, huh?" He asks haltingly, playing along for the time being because he's enjoying the attentions of this stunning man too much to want the fantasy to end. “What…ahh, oh, I...ah, I wish I knew y-yyour name." He stutters, struggling to remain clearheaded and not get lost in the intoxicating feel, taste, and scent of this mysterious man as he climbs back onto Dean's lap and starts grinding against his stiffeninf dick.

“Castiel, Master, your djinni.” The mystery man whispers against Dean's ear, leaning forward the last remaining inch to kiss the delicate skin there.

“Castiel…why…” Dean starts, stopping abruptly when his cock is suddenly freed from the confines of his shorts. “Omphh!” he grunts when long fingers wrap tightly around his shaft and tug.

“Yes, Master?” Castiel replies, the innocent tone of his voice belying the lewdness of his actions. Then he licks into Dean's open mouth and sucks hungrily on his tongue, all the while stroking Dean's dick to full hardness.

 _‘Fuck now, talk later.’_ Dean decides, but before he voices his wish, he has a lapful of naked djinni enthusiastically gyrating over his own very naked body.

Not caring how or why if any of this is real, ( _it’s probably a dream anyway, the best fucking_ _mirage of all fucking time!_ ), but wishing with all his being that it is, Dean decides to take full advantage of the situation and resolves to enjoy himself to the fullest.

 _‘No consequences if it ain’t real. And besides, it'd be a damn shame to let such a fucking hot_ _dream go to waste.’_ he figures. Taking a firm grip of the djinni’s ass-cheeks, he spreads them apart and nestles his dick between their snug heat. “Fuck yeah.” He groans. “So fucking hot for you, Cas...Castiel. So fucking beautiful.” He rambles in his lust-fuelsed haze. “Ooh, yeah, baby…”

 _‘What the hell’s this shit coming out of my mouth??’_ he wonders shocked by his loss of control.

Dean can’t help the words that are coming out of his mouth. He’s never been so explicit or direct with his desires. It’s as if he can’t hide his real feelings from this man. No coyness or double talk between them.

“Oh yeah, baby, just like that…” he keeps going. _‘Jesus, get a grip, Dean!’_

But Castiel feels so good and so fucking right, that instead of ‘getting a grip’ on his emotions, he holds on tighter to the man's body. Dean curls his fingers around Castiel's slim hips, denting the firm flesh, and watches transfixed as Castiel bounces up and down on his lap, cradling Dean’s dick in a tight tunnel of delicious friction.

Dean's already so close, embarrassingly so, the relentless grinding, the heat, the drag and pull on his dick as Castiel clenches and unclenches around him, will surely push him over the edge sooner rather than later if they don't ease off a bit.

Dean _wishes_ for the will-power to slow down, muses on other ways to prolong their pleasure. Maybe he’ll ask the djinni to change positions, get on all fours, sit on his face... _Fuck!_ Dean could have done without that particular image. He shakes his head and pictures them making out, yeah, a nice lazy make-out session, one where he gets to feast on the djinni's plump lips, nibble on their succulence, lick and suck on them, urge them lower, feel the the wet tip of Castiel's tongue trail across his chest, dip into his navel, wrap around his dick - and just like that, Dean's wish is granted.

He jerks back, eyes slamming shut, mind whiting out from the wet heat and intense suction suddenly surrounding his dick. He groans loudly, a long drawn out guttural sound, unable to stop himself from bucking into Castiel's mouth. "Oh, God...Cas…sto-stop-" He cries out.

Castiel pulls off with a slurp and a pop, he looks up a Dean through his lashes and with a suggestive smirk, dips back between Dean's thighs and sucks bruises into the sensitive skin.

"So fucking p-perfect, baby." Dean stutters, chest heaving with shallow breaths. _‘God must really love me!’_ Goes unsaid.

"Mmmm, habibi." Castiel sighs, exhaling heated breath over Dean's dick. He flattens his tongue against the slit to lap at the gathered wetness, licking and swirling his tongue around the crown, taking the entire length into his mouth, and swallows.

Dean’s head slams back from the all consuming ecstasy, expecting but not caring if he hits rock; cracking his skull open a small price to pay for the unbridled pleasure coursing through his body thanks to Castiel's special talents.

But when his head slams into unexpected softness, Dean opens his eyes and looks to his side, expecting to see the powder soft sand of the beach, but instead finds himself surrounded by several plush and elaborately decorated pillows.

_‘Awesome!’_

Dean hums happily and sinks further into the luxurious cushions, grabbing a fistful of Castiel’s hair to hold him in place while he gently thrusts into his mouth.

But after a too brief moment of lazily driving his cock in and out of Castiel’s throat, Dean pulls out, knowing that if they continue in this way, this beautiful mirage will be over too soon for his liking.

"C'mere." He croaks, voice deep and husky from panting.

Castiel obeys and immediately climbs Dean's reclined body, placing his arms on either side of his Master's head to settle perfectly between his spread legs. He stares down at his new Master, eyes hooded and lust (love) filled, lips parted, gasping out in surprise when Dean’s fingers wrap around his cock. “Mmm…Master!” he yelps, hips rolling in tiny circles, bracing himself on Dean's shoulders, slowly fucking into his fist.

"You like that, huh, Cas?" Dean whispers lewdly against the djinni's cheek, tongue pocking out to lick at the fine film of sweat coating Castiel's neck.

"Yes...please, I feel-" Castiel sobs, unraveling, mind and body converging and twisting into a fine point, on the brink of orgasm.

"I know baby." Dean grunts. He draws up, wanting, _needing,_ to have his mouth on this man, to kiss and taste, to devour. 

He latches his lips against the djinni’s, kissing him hard, deep and passionately, open and sloppy, teeth clacking, tongues tangling, He opens his hand to grab both cocks and begins to stroke, the friction from the combined heat and wetness, glorious. driving them closer towards their climax. Two, three strokes, thumb smearing their mingled pre-cum; the filthy sounds of skin on skin while he jerks them off, coupled with Castiel's pornographic whines and whimpers, break him.

“Cas…gonna cum…” Dean groans, silently _wishing _the same for the djinni.__

“Y…yes, Master…” Castiel cries voice quivering, the smooth sensuous rhythm of his hips stuttering, cumming the same instant Dean’s orgasm hits.

Eyes tightly sealed, Dean’s head falls back against the pillows, ropes of semen landing between the pair, cumming harder than he ever has in his life.

He opens his eyes, instantly mesmerized by the sight of the djinni wreaked and debauched above him, steadily milking them until they're both emptied; the sound of their slicked cocks mingling with Castiel’s erotic wails, drowns out the island’s otherwise tranquil music.

…

Dean’s breathless, heart racing, dreading that now that he’s climaxed, he’ll wake from this beautiful dream.

He winds his arms around Castiel’s waist and coaxes him to lie down: chests pressed flush, bodies slotting perfectly together, relishing the weight and feel of the djinni’s body pinning him down.

”That was, pretty fucking amazing, Cas.” He whispers after a beat, taking Castiel’s lobe into his mouth and giving it a playful nibble.

"Bendeh Beh Goosheh Farmaneh to Hastam Sardar.” The djinni replies. “Sheklat mesleh Seemmayekh Khalif Hast.” He nods and lowers his head, pressing his lips against Dean’s.

Dean gladly opens up, greedy for more of the djinni’s kisses. “English, please.” He mumbles around a mouthful of tongue.

“My apologies, Master.” Castiel says voice low and solemn. And with some quick maneuvering, sits up, knees bracketing Dean’s thighs, bowing low until his forehead rests on Dean’s chest.

“Ah…no worries, man, no need for apologies." Dean answers, momentarily stunned by Castiel’s odd behavior and sudden change in mood. "Just want to understand what you’re trying to tell me, is all.” He clarifies, unconsciously running his fingers through the djinni's messy hair.

Sensing Dean's discomfort, Castiel settles over his Master's body, lavishing his face and chest with tiny moist kisses. After a short while, and after thoroughly covering every inch of Dean he can reach without moving, he lifts his head and says, “I said that my heart sings at having such a handsome Master.” He explains, pausing for a kiss. “And, that I am yours to command.” Another pause, another kiss. “Oh!” He startles, as if remembering something of grave importance. “And I also said that you have the face of a wise and fearless Caliph.” He exclaims, dreamy expression turned bright and satisfied.

“Heh, thanks, I guess.” Dean chuckles, bashful from the praise, ‘ _Because seriously, this guy can’t_ _be for real.’_ He thinks. _‘Must be ‘cause I’m an awesome lay.’_ He reasons, smirking.

“Master, I think these things because they’re true.” The djinni says, nodding emphatically, knowing Dean’s thoughts and sensing his doubts. “I have been waiting for you for over two thousand years.”

“Wait, how the…? You know what I'm thinking? Whoa,…hold on a minute. Are you reading my mind?” Dean asks, eyes widening when he realizes that the reason this being knows what he wants, before being told, is because he’s been invading his thoughts.

Castiel nods, easily reading Dean's mind, brow furrowed, perplexed by his Master's reaction.

“Oh hells no!” Dean yells. “Nah-ah, dude, my head’s a no trespassing zone, you got it. And what the hell do you mean you've been waiting for me?" He demands, conveniently ignoring the part where the djinni mentioned it was for more than two thousand years. 

_'Because there's crazy, and_ _then there's dishonorable discharge crazy_.’

"I don't even know you." He stresses, voice getting louder, pitch getting higher, jabbing his finger aggressively against the djinn’s chest.

Literally, In the blink of an eye, Dean finds himself alone on the cushions. He feels cold and raw, completely exposed, and not because he’s still naked. When he looks up, Castiel’s standing in front of him, dressed again in his loose fitting pants.

"Sardar aghar Khatereh Tora Azar Dadam, mano bebakhsh" Castiel utters, tone somber eyes glassy, dropping down to his hands and knees, forehead to the ground.

“English, Cas.” Dean grits out, the words come out harsh and he immediately feels guilty. “Come on, get up, don’t kneel like that, okay. It, ah, makes me uncomfortable.” He says in a softer voice.

Castiel looks up, cheeks tinged pink, tears in the corners of his eyes, but still on his knees.

Deeply regretting his earlier flash of anger and irritation, Dean curses at himself for causing his djinni any pain.

 _'My djinni?_ _Heh, a man can get used to that.’_ He thinks and immediately curses himself for entertaining such a fantasy.

"Um, sorry for yelling at you like that, just caught me by surprise, okay.” He apologizes with a helpless shrug. “We, ah, humans…we don’t go around reading each other’s minds. We talk. Tell each other what’s on our minds, or, at least what we feel comfortable exposing." He pauses, hoping his words calm the djinni and convince him to get up. "And you gotta admit, what you're telling me is pretty hard to believe." He adds in a soothing tone.

“But Master, I'm telling the truth, I could never lie to you." Castiel pleads pushing up to sit on his haunches, looking down at his hands and wringing them nervously. "And if you say reading your thoughts is hard to believe, then I agree and will never listen to them again. I humbly ask for your forgiveness.” He begs resuming his previous pose, bending low with forehead pressed to the ground

“Hey, what did I say? No more of that, okay, Cas.” Dean scoots over the cushions, moving closer to the djinni, placing gentle fingers under his chin to force the other man to look at him. “Listen, I need you to understand that my thoughts, the things in my head, are mine. They’re private and nobody else’s business. My thoughts and secrets are mine to tell if and when I want to, capiche?” He says seriously, but smiling softly. “And no more kneeling.” _‘Unless it’s because_ _I’m pounding into you from behind.’_ he thinks, immediately reddening when he realizes the djinni probably read every word. “Ah, you didn’t just read my mind, did you?” He asks nervously.

“Of course not Master. I promised, never again, unless you wish it.” Castiel replies honestly.

“Good.” Dean says, both relieved and slightly disappointed. Then, still holding Castiel's face, turns it to kiss away a lone tear running down his flushed cheek. “Now, tell me, in English, what were you trying to tell me before this whole misunderstanding?” He asks gently, pressing tender kisses along the sharp edge of the djinni’s stubbled jaw.

"Mmm, Master.” Castiel sighs kissing his reply into Dean’s mouth. “I asked that if I made you angry, to please forgive me." He pulls back looking deeply into Dean’s eyes. “Please forgive your djinni, Master.”

“Ah, sure.” Dean answers hesitantly, because, really, what else could he say to that deeply touching declaration. “But that just brings up another thing I kinda have a problem with. What’s this ‘Master’ business all about? I mean, don’t get me wrong, it’s sexy as hell.” He chuckles. “I seriously thought we were role playing at first, but man, you just keep saying it and now I’m wondering if you really believe it. Do you?” He asks, honestly curious as to the extent of his delusion.

“Of course I mean it, Master.” Castiel answers immediately, leaving no doubt on the matter. “You found my bottle. You rubbed the magical runes that released me from my prison and enslaved me to your will.”

“Enslaved?” Dean squawks, shocked and disbelieving. “No way, dude. No way you’re my slave.”

“Master?” Castiel asks head cocked to the side, confused, again, by Dean’s odd behavior. “What’s the matter? Don’t you wish to be my Master?” He asks tentatively, dreading rejection.

“That’s exactly it! I do not want to be your Master.” Dean points out, punching each word with emphasis. “And, I definitely don’t want a slave. So-“ He gestures with a shooing motion. “Just, you know, be free. I release you from me and all that.”

Suddenly very embarrassed, Dean grabs one of the cushions and clutching it tightly says, “Oh, and ah, before you go, um, my clothes please.”

“But Master, you cannot release me. I am yours and you are mine, now and forever. You must understand." Castiel implores, his voice low and throaty, insistent. “Please, what can I do to make you want me?” He growls and falling on all fours, crawls slowly towards Dean.

“Master, I’ll make you happy, I promise. Just give me a chance.” he whispers hotly against Dean's ear, the low timber of his voice causing the astronaut's skin to break out in goose-flesh and his dick to perk up with interest.

“Ah, Cas…hold on a minute.” Dean halts him, trying his best to keep his composure as the djinni rubs his cheek and lips along his. “It’s not that I don’t want you.” He sighs when Castiel presses soft kisses on his collarbone. ”I just want you to understand that you don’t belong to anybody.”

 _‘But me!’_ he can’t help but think, feeling the truth of it down to his bones. Just the thought of anyone else ‘claiming’ Castiel, has Dean seeing red. _Mine!'_ Dean groans inwardly, unable to deny how he feels.

Castiel, ignoring Dean’s internal monologue and unnecessary suffering, continues to worship him with his mouth, slowly making his way down his Master’s chest, humming and moaning all the way.

Dean gives in easily after that. He grabs the djinni by the shoulders and hoists him onto his lap, placing his lips on every bit of skin he can reach with kisses and gentle words of praise. “Smell and taste so fucking good, Cas. I could live off of your kisses, man.” he repeats on a loop.

“Yes Master. I’m yours to do with as you please.” Castiel agrees, digging blunt nails into Dean’s sides, leaving behind pale red tracks. “Your wish is my pleasure." He whispers seductivly, not realizing it’s the worst possible thing he could have said to Dean.

The sexually charged statement instanly sobers Dean and shakes him out of his lust-fueled daze. _‘This is so fucking wrong.’_

“No Cas, I'm not your 'Master'!" He snaps angrily at the poor unsuspecting djinni. "And as s matter of fact, I don’t want to be your Master, now or ever, you got that?. And you’re not my slave, for chrissake's. Use my name, okay, I have a name and it ain't Master." He takes a deep gulp of air, then exhales it sharply, he's so fucking pissed. 

"You’re a free man. You’re no body's property. You don't have to do anything you don't want to. I mean, just 'cause you think it would give your Master pleasure, doesn't mean you have to do anything unless it’s because you want it." He stresses pointedly, brow furrowed and lips pinched tightly in anger.

 _‘I knew this was too good to be true. No way he’d be with me of his own free will. I mean, why_ _would he?’_ Dean tells himself, mind overflowing with negative thoughts, feeling like shit and hating himself for believing, even for a moment, that good things do happen.

The djinni looks down at his hands, and shaking his head sadly asks in a low voice. "And what do you want then, Mas-"

"Dean, my name’s Dean, Cas." he snaps, tight lipped and irritated, gripping Castiel hard by the biceps. He's upset and frustrated, mostly with himself. Angrily he barks, "And right now, all I want is to get off his fucking island and get back home."

The look he gets in return is enough to break his heart. The djinni looks completely destroyed, heartbroken, shattered. "Yes Mas- I mean Dean, I’m sorry.” He responds solemnly, resigned.

"Cas, don't be sorry, man.” he replies, sighing tiredly, body deflating. “This isn't your fault. You shouldn't have to-" but before he finishes, Dean finds himself fully clothed, sitting on the sandy shore, and utterly alone.

…

Slumped forward, Dean stares hopelessly out into the endless sea.

“Fucking damn it! Son of a bitch!” he snarls under his breath. “Knew I’d fuck it up.” he groans, tucking his head between his knees, wanting nothing more than to forget how he screwed up with Castiel and what a colossal failure and disappointment he is to his father.

“Fucking djinni!" He laments, wondering how on Earth this man, this djinni, managed to get under his skin so quickly.

He's too distracted in self loathing and withering heartache to hear the growing rumble of propeller blades coming from the far distance.

Eventually, however, the growing thunder snaps him out of his depressing thoughts and he finally becomes aware of the unmistakable sounds of growling engines. “Rescue ‘copter.” he mumbles, head snapping up, upraised hand shading his eyes to scan the sky.

As the rumble grows steadily in volume, he can clearly make out, not too far off in the distance, the shape of three helicopters heading his way.

"Thank god." He whispers to himself.

When the helicopters are in full view, Dean jumps into action; months of training and protocol kicking in. He rummages through his duffel, grabs a flare gun, sprints towards his shabbily assembled SOS sign, and shoots a flare over his head, marking his exact position for the oncoming rescue team.

When the helicopters flash their lights in return, he can’t help but jump up and down, whooping and pumping his fists, relief flooding his system.

When the helicopters land he has to shield his eyes from the sand the blades kick up. But even through squinted eyes he can clearly make out Sam’s giant body leaping out from the lead helicopter before it even has a chance to touch down.

Dean, elated from sight of his brother lumbering towards him, smiles and holding back tears - _Hey, it's been a really stressful day -_ finally allows himself to collapse.

…

The next thing Dean feels are his brother's massive arms wrapping tightly around him, hoisting him off his knees and crushing Dean’s face against his massive chest.

"Humph, Sam!" Dean huffs, struggling for air in his brother's vice like grip. "Dude, oxygen!" He grunts smacking Sam repeatedly on the back.

"Dean, we thought you were a goner." Sam almost cries voice thick with emotion, finally loosening his hold, but not by much. "We've been searching for days, man. We finally picked up your distress signal about 10 minutes ago." He marvels, glassy eyed but grinning happily, looking over his brother’s body and checking for any visible wounds. "We never gave up, though. I wouldn't let them. Dad wouldn't let them." He adds fiercely.

He places a gentle hand on Dean’s shoulder and hopes his brother’s shocked silence is the result of being stranded for such a long period of time, and not because of any physical injury. He takes Dean by the shoulder and steers him towards his helicopter while the rest of the team, sets about evaluating the wreckage.

They stop moving forward when Dean pulls free to jog back and grab his almost forgotten bag.

Duffel in hand, Dean turns back one last time. His eyes roam over the area, searching for something, anything that proves he didn’t image the entire fantasy, or worse yet, that he might be losing his mind. But he finds nothing and sadly starts believing that it really never happened, that Castiel was never real.

 _‘Yeah, of course, no way any of that was real.’_ He concedes, heart sinking, too lost in his thoughts to notice the extra weight and solid thump of a bottle hitting him on the back when he slings his bag over his shoulder.

He turns back to his brother and lets himself be ushered towards the helicopter. Sam sits protectively next to Dean on one side, while an EMT takes his vitals on the other.

Dean looks out the window longingly, and sighs. He holds onto his brother tightly with one hand and clutches his bag possessively with the other, letting the weight and feel of both ground him.

 _‘Goodbye Cas, you beautiful figment of my imagination.’_ he almost sobs, frowning from the deep ache that has already found a permanent place in his heart. He slumps heavily against his window and unable to tear his eyes away, stares fixedly at the isle until it disappears from view.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I borrowed the Arabic dialogue from the show 'I dream of Jeannie.' Great show and fun to watch if you already haven't.  
> You can also find chapters of this fic on my tumblr. I'm ficfan, come up and see me sometime!


	3. Glad to be back home, I think.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean doesn’t know how long he sleeps, but when Sam shakes him awake he feels completely refreshed and oddly revitalized. The thrum and vibrations from the helicopter, or was it the mind blowing sex that supposedly never happened, lulled him into a deep slumber.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm gonna be posting on Tuesday and Friday from now on. The chapters will be longer, and the editing more time consuming. Hope that's okay with y'all. Again, thanks for reading!

The ride back to base is a blur of noise, movement, pokes and prods from the EMT and Sam’s constant chatter. 

“Seriously dude, how the fuck did you even survive? I mean, did you see your ship, it’s a total loss!” Sam says, raking his hands through his hair, brows shooting up and disappearing under his too long bangs.

“Guess I must have been thrown.” Dean answers, voice flat, expression blank. He’s shocked, really, unable to wrap his mind around the fact that according to NASA he’s been missing for twelve days. Days, not hours, fucking days! He can’t understand or explain such a huge lapse in his memory. 

“Bro, even thrown, how are you without a scratch?” Sam asks grabbing Dean by the shoulders, turning his body so that he faces him, scrutinizing and studying him with a keen eye. He checks his face, arms, and legs, finding nothing, not a knick or a scratch. “Just, how?” He asks again, eyes narrowed and suspicious. 

Dean can’t help but think back on Castiel, his djinni - _Heh, more like my guardian angel - _he amends and wonders if perhaps it was the djinni that fixed him up, patched him back together with his mojo and made it so I that he couldn’t remember?__

_'What the fuck am I even thinking? That shit wasn’t real.' _He reminds himself and pushes the thought away.__

"Listen Sam, what do you want me to say? I’m guessing I must have been flung out and knocked unconscious. That’s all I got." Dean argues, the words coming out harsher than he intended.

His head’s beginning to ache and his brother’s insistent probing is making him more and more aggravated. When he looks over at Sam, he immediately feels like shit; his brother’s puppy-dog eyes and pout always make him backtrack and apologize even when he swears he’s not at fault. “And don’t give me that look.” He snaps, but adds in a softer tone, “I’m just tired, ‘kay? Let me sit quietly for a minute, it’s been a hell of a day.” He smiles warmly, with more reassurance than he feels, hoping to ease his brother’s anxiety. Counting Sam’s hesitant smile and silence as a win, he leans back, closes his eyes and hugging his duffle tighter than necessary, tries to sleep. 

He’s asleep almost instantly dreaming of dark messy hair, bright blue eyes, full pink lips, and miles of tanned, softly muscled skin, shuddering deliciously at his touch. 

… 

Dean doesn’t know how long he sleeps, but when Sam shakes him awake he feels completely refreshed and oddly revitalized. The thrum and vibrations from the helicopter, or was it the mind blowing sex that supposedly never happened, lulled him into a deep slumber. 

"Dean we're landing." Sam announces, prodding him awake. "Better get ready for the welcoming committee, especially dad." He warns.

"You mean get ready for the shit-storm." Dean mutters under his breath, but loud enough that his brother hears him.

He stretches his arms over his head, twisting his back, grinning at the satisfying pops of his spine, and yawns exaggeratedly. "Mmmmm," he hums contentedly. "I feel fucking awesome." He mentions to no one in particular, rubbing the crust out of his eyes. He frowns when he looks up and sees Sam's bitchy-worry face staring back at him, accusingly. "What?"

"It's not like that at all." Sam says confidentially, leaning in closer and flicking his hair out of his eyes. "Sure, dad went ballistic, but it was with worry, Dean. He tried going about business as usual, but just ended up tearing Charlie and Benny a new one, wanting answers and someone to blame. Everybody could tell he was barely holding it together thinking that you might be dead.” He pauses, waiting for his words to sink in before he continues. “I swear, if he could have, he would have traded places with you in a minute." 

Sam's words leave Dean feeling humbled and a little ashamed. "Man, I hate that dad was so upset, and he shouldn't have gone after Charlie and Benny like that. I mean, those two are probably the reason I survived at all." He thinks back on how thorough and diligent his teammates were about his safety, and has to fight back the guilt-filled bile rising in his throat. 

"Heh, I dunno know." Sam huffs, his breath blowing his bangs off his face. "Guess once everyone sees you're okay, they'll be off the hook." He says looking hopeful, but his tone lacking confidence. 

"Well, first thing I do is make sure they get outta the hot seat. Especially for something that I'm positive was beyond their control." He eyes Sam's unconvincing nod suspiciously. "And dude, what's with the friggin' hair? There's no way that's regulation." He snorts, pointing and shaking his head. “Soon you’ll have to braid it to get your helmet on, man.”

"Ha-ha, funny Dean. How about you take a second and stop fixating on the fact that I'm the better looking Winchester and focus on what you're gonna tell everyone, 'cause from where I'm sitting there's no way you were unconscious for twelve days without showing some sign of distress." 

"What do you mean tell everyone?” Dean challenges. “I'm telling them the truth, as far as I can remember, okay.” 

_‘Or more like a quarter of the truth, ‘cause there’s no way am I telling anyone about Castiel.’ _He thinks and recalling their sexual exploits, is unable to suppress the indecent thoughts that always accompany his memories of the djinni.__

_‘Yeah, I’m definitely taking that little gem to the grave.’ _He swears to himself with a giant grin.__

“Dean, I’m all ears. How about you start with me?” Sam asks, his curiosity roused but he’s careful not to push his brother too hard for answers he’s unwilling to share. 

____

“What, you want me to practice on you?” 

____

Sam nods, ignoring his brother’s chuckle as his hair swings and sways with the bobbing of his head. “Seriously Sam, me, a pair of hedge clippers, done and done. No?” Dean relents at his brother’s scowl, raising his hands in surrender and taking a deep breath, starts going over the list of steps he took immediately after take-off and up until his rescue. 

____

“Okay.” Dean exhales sharply and inhales deeply before he begins. “Right after take-off, the computer’s alarm went off indicating that one of the solar panels was coming loose. I went to assess the damage and to see if it meant I had to abort. I tried but I couldn’t reach the right switch to by-bass that system and shut off that damn alarm. Jesus, it was annoying the shit outta me.” He gripes. “And you know what’s weird? I never realized how far that power panel was. I mean, during all of the simulated flights its position was never an issue.” He looks at his brother as if searching for answers. “Charlie designed the whole dashboard to my body’s specifications. Then all of a sudden, right during the actual mission, I can’t reach it? How?” _It’s like I wasn’t meant to stop the crash. _Dean broods over the matter.__

____

“Dean, you okay?” Sam’s concerned tone brings Dean back to topic. 

____

“Yeah, guess I miscalculated distances during practice.” He says with a shrug, quickly covering up his misgivings and pushing the thought of sabotage to the back of his mind, for the time being. “Ah, then when I couldn’t reach the damaged panel switch, I just struggled to get out of my seat. Shit wouldn’t unlock, man. Actually, that was a good thing. ‘Cause when I finally did get out, I got the shit beat outta me on impact.” 

____

_‘On second thought, how the fuck didn’t I break my friggin’ neck when the ship crashed?’ ___

____

“So yeah, bottom line is I fucked up, crashed, got knocked around, saw that all systems were fucked in the ship, and after a long fucking struggle, managed to get the capsule door open.” He plows on wanting to finish his story and drop the subject as quickly as possible. “Once outside I saw the capsule was shot to shit, gathered a bunch of shells and rocks to write out my S.O.S and ah..." 

____

At Dean’s lengthy pause, Sam prods, "Go on.” He gestures with his hand for Dean to continue.

____

"…And then I sat down on the sand for a while, and that’s when you guys showed up.” Dean ends his tale on an anticlimactic note, much to Sam’s chagrin. 

____

Sam stares at his brother and doesn’t bother to mask the look of utter disbelief on his face. "Pfft yeah, real convincing Dean. Look, you're not malnourished, or dirty. Dude, you don't even have a beard. How do you hope to get anyone to believe that story when you don't even buy it?" He looks down shaking his head. "I don't mean to attack you with this, but I know you Dean, you’re probably freaking out, and you gotta know, dad and Bobby won't accept your explanation." He says this intentionally, hoping to convince his brother of the gravity of his claims. “They will dig and dig until they figure out what the hell went wrong. I mean, it's not like there's some sort of freaky supernatural magic going on here." He laughs softly at the absurdity of such a notion.

____

Dean gapes, fish mouths for an answer, suddenly nervous at his father and Bobby’s investigation, and at how close to the truth his brother’s got.

____

"Dean, come on, what aren't you telling me?" Sam pushes, knowing from Dean’s bizarre reaction, that his brother is definitely hiding something.

____

"We're here gentlemen." The pilot announces to Dean's huge relief. He turns around in his seat to face him. "Sir, it was an honor to be the pilot that brought NASA's youngest hero home." He salutes and rushes out to hold Dean’s door open.

____

…

____

The throngs of people gathered on the landing pad leave just enough space for their helicopter to land. 

____

Dean recognizes all of them, friends and family all gazing up, shielding their eyes from the day’s bright sunlight, huge smiles on all of their faces. Standing proudly, front and center, is his father, looking tense and ready to pounce. Once the 'copter's doors fly open the crowd breaks into ruckus applause, hollering their welcome, and whistling with joy. Dean hops out, landing in his father’s open arms. The General holds his son tightly, crushing the air out of his lungs, leaving Dean breathless. 

____

"Dean, so glad to have you back." The elder Winchester says, his words coming out terse, fighting back emotion that's been threatening to swallow him since Dean’s initial take off. He pulls back and stares at his son warmly. "Let’s get you inside." He smiles, eyes glassy and crinkling at the corners.

____

"Yes sir." Dean replies shyly, embarrassed to be the focus of such intense attention. _‘I don't deserve this, any of it, I fucked up everything. The mission, NASA's funding, the country's space future, Cas. I fucked up with Cas.’ _his mind supplies helpfully, the patronizing bastard. He turns back to grab his bag and lets himself be escorted through the bay doors.__

____

… 

____

It doesn't get any better once he's inside. If anything, things get worse. 

____

"Dean!" Lisa squeals in delight, running towards him and flinging herself into his arms.

____

"Lisa, what are you doing here?" He asks, winded by her assault, dodging her kisses. "Why-"

____

"Dean, when Sam called and told me about what happened, well I just couldn't stay away." She cuts in, tears running down her pretty face. "I had to come here and be with your family until I knew you were safe." She explains wrapping her arms tightly around his neck. "I was so worried, baby. Never gonna let you out of my sight again. Please forgive me?" She whispers in his ear. “Ow, Dean, why’d you pull my hair?” she yelps, looking hurt and confused.

____

“I…what? I didn’t pull.” He holds the back of her head gently, searching for the reason it snagged, massaging the soreness away with his fingertips. “Ah, sorry, must have gotten caught on my watch.” He apologizes and without thinking kisses her forehead. 

____

“Mmm, s’okay.” She smiles. “Glad to see me?”She asks, fluttering her eyelashes coquettishly and pulling him closer.

____

“Lis...I...not here, okay?" he exhales and unlaces her fingers from their tight grip to wrap with his own instead. He steps away from her, exhaustion flooding his system and scans the sea of grinning faces all around. He smiles and nods in return, and without hope of a quick get-away, steels himself for the onslaught of their enthusiasm. 

____

"That's enough everyone!" A familiar voice barks out loudly. "Can't you idjits see this boy’s about to collapse?" Colonel Singer walks up to Dean, grabs him firmly by the shoulder, out of Lisa’s hold and steers him towards the inner offices. "Come with me boy." He orders curtly. "I got a shit load of questions with your name all over 'em."

____

Dean's so relieved he could cry. He turns to Lisa, shrugs as if to say ‘duty calls’ and leaning closely whispers, "We'll talk later, promise." He gives her a small peck on the cheek, mostly out of habit, and walks away, glad to be going off to deal with anything Bobby has to throw at him instead of with the tornado of emotions that come with his ex.

____

"Ah, come on now, no fair. We deserve to get our mitts into our leader too after what he put us through!" Benny complains. He follows behind them, leaning over the colonel and pats Dean loudly on the shoulder." "Brotha, you just about gave us all heart-attacks.” He adds, his excitement exaggerating the southern twang of his accent. “What, your carrier doesn't get service in paradise?" He teases.

____

Those near to them laugh. Dean grins, about to reply to the barb with his own smart-ass comment when another of his teammates speaks up.

____

"Where's my souvenir, Dean-o?" Gabriel shouts over the crowd. "I'd been happy with a pretty shell, or any other pretty shiny object you might have dug up from the sand out there." He says, secretive smile and narrowed eyes making his meaning hard to read. "Find anything you wanna share with the rest of us? Or, are you keeping it all to yourself, hm?" He prompts, waggling his eyebrows suggestively and licking his lips lewdly.

____

_What the fuck? ___

____

“The fuck, Gabe, I was on a deserted island. As in nothing much to write home about.” Dean snaps angrily. Prick, goes unsaid.

____

“Whoa there, buck-o.” Gabriel steps close, placing a soothing hand on his arm, and whispers so that only Dean can hear, “Seems like I hit a nerve there, huh buddy-boy?” he adds shrewdly. “Oh, and let’s watch the language, okay kiddo?”

____

Dean shrugs him off, slack-jawed and wide-eyed. How? He wants to ask, but has the breath knocked out of him when Charlie tackles him from behind. 

____

“Dean, thank god!” The engineer cries out, wrapping her arms tightly around his waist. “I’m so sorry. We still haven’t figured out what the hell happened.” She releases her hold on Dean and walks around to face him. “But don’t you worry Benny and I are on the job. We’ll figure this out if it’s the last thing we do.” The sincerity and conviction of her declaration reminding Dean why he’s so fond of the petite redhead.

____

“Heh, speak for y’self.” Benny snorts. “Right now my priorities are to help our Captain forget that we fucked up royally with the aid of lots of alcohol and a couple of gorgeous brunettes.” He winks at Dean and smiles at his friend’s flustered reaction.

____

The comment earns Benny hearty laughs from his crew, and a glare from Lisa. 

____

“Sorry dahlin, didn’t mean no disrespect.” Benny, always the charmer, takes her hand and gives it a small kiss. “I hope you can find it in your heart to forgive a cad such as myself.” He offers as way of an apology, lips curling in a suggestive grin.

____

“Ah, of course, I think?” Lisa replies looking over to Dean for guidance. 

____

As if on cue, Bobby grabs Dean by the scruff, guiding him through the crowd and out of the room. “Back off, Lafitte.” Bobby yells back before Dean has a chance to answer. 

____

Dean lets himself be manhandled, but when they get to the exit, he pauses to look back and finds Gabriel grinning and waving knowingly at him.

____

_Fucking dick! ___

____

…

____

Dean spends the next few hours, but it feels more like days, being interviewed by personnel from various departments all asking the same questions phrased and rephrased differently, but always boiling down to wanting answers on the how and why of the crash. His hand cramps from signing dozens of sworn affidavits, waivers, plus any and all legal documentation that the powers-that-be see fit to place in front of him; anything that might in any small way pertain to said crash. 

____

Towards the end of his never-ending day, Dean’s ushered into Dr. Singer's office. He reclines in the doctor’s cozy chaise and struggles to remain alert during his psychological examination. At one point, after giving Bobby a less than satisfactory reply to one of his questions, Dean is cuffed smartly over the head.

____

“Boy, I know you’re tired. But newsflash, princess, we’re all beat.” Bobby growls low and menacingly, looming over him. “Your dad hasn’t slept since the moment you went missing. That fool brother of yours commandeered the entire mission staff to recreate your flight from beginning to end, testing out theories for any number of endings. And then, after a dozen or hundred tries, he camped out at command central with Charlie and Benny going over the logistics of the flight. Those three idjits wracked their brains trying to figure out where the hell that damn capsule of yours landed.” He huffs out angrily. “And maybe I was worried too.” He admits grudgingly. “So wake the fuck up ‘cause you ain’t leaving ‘til I’m satisfied with the bullshit answers you give me. Got it?”

____

“Geez Bobby, sorry. Just, we’ve been at this for hours.” At Bobby’s glare, he sits up takes a long drink from his water bottle and looking more alert than he feels, says, “Okay, what else do you wanna know?”

____

…

____

Once Bobby dismisses him, Dean has orders to report for a comprehensive physical that leaves him feeling sore and, if anybody asks, a little violated, from an examination that left no nook or cranny unchecked. Ouch! 

____

In the end, it’s the General that finally rescues Dean from the never-ending series of tests and inquests into the crash that, as far as he’s concerned, will never see the light of day. “Dean, ready to go home son?” His father asks, extending his hand like a lifeline just as a very twitchy young intern attempts for the umpteenth time to tap a painfully over-extended vain.

____

“Yes, sir.” Dean says immediately, gratefully, pulling himself free, jumping off the examination table and reaching for his clothes. 

____

"Captain Winchester, sir, I'm not done yet." the young intern says. 

____

"And I say he is.” The General orders, his voice booming in the confines of the small room. “Here are his release forms." He hands the papers over to the young and slightly terrified man to examine, and reaching for the door he says curtly, "Dismissed, nurse." 

____

_'It’s good to be the son of a General.’_ Dean can’t help but beam. 

____

…

____

Dean’s grateful for his dad’s silence on the ride home. He hasn't had time since landing to fully process the magnitude of what he was withholding from everyone, even himself. He was careful during the interrogations, only giving half-truths and omitting every detail associated to Castiel; his beautiful hallucination. 

____

_‘Telling would mean losing my rank, my position as team leader, and it sure-as-shit would guarantee me a one-way ticket to the loony bin. This is too much. Later, I'll think about this later.’ _, he decides and presses his face against the cool passenger side window. He closes his eyes and urges his mind to remain empty and blank, craving sweet oblivion.__

____

Of course, it’s useless. Even though his body has reached its limit of exhaustion, his mind is apparently running on jet fuel. It’s not the mission, or the incessant questioning from the past couple of hours that has his mind running on a loop of self doubt and nervous tension. No, the reason for Dean's frayed nerves is the napalm mix of Gabriel with his snarky comments and intuitive taunts, plus Castiel, his imaginary djinni. 

_Castiel _.__

Dean lets out a quiet mournful sigh remembering what he had, what he's lost. _‘Fuckin perfect djinni.’_ __

____

John, believing his son's asleep, clears his throat loudly to get his attention. "Dean, you're home. Wake up son." He says softly, nudging him on the shoulder. 

____

Dean mumbles, "Okay, dad." As they pull up the driveway, he asks his father if he wants to come in.

____

“No, son, you head inside. Rest for tonight. I’ll come by in the morning and take you and your brother out for breakfast, okay?” 

____

“Yeah, sounds good, dad. Um, and dad,” Dean starts, his hands clutching at his thighs. “Sorry about everything.” The apology full of meaning. 

____

“Dean?" John asks, not understanding why his son is apologizing. "Son, you don’t have anything to be sorry about.” He answers, brow furrowed, words laced with concern. “The only thing that mattered, matters, to me is the safety of my boys.” He swallows thickly, and reaches across the seat grabbing Dean's hand possessively, so happy and relieved to have him back. "Now, go inside. There’s a surprise waiting for you.” He says in a hushed secretive tone, smiling. 

____

'Surprise?' Dean groans inwardly and climbs out of his father’s car. 

____

_My bag!_

____

He turns around suddenly and runs back towards the car catching up quickly and banging on the window before it pulls away. _‘Fuck, I can’t believe I almost forgot my bag!’ _, the missing comforting weight of it triggering his memory.__

____

“Dad, wait!” He yells frantically to his father. He swings the back door open and grabs his duffel. 

____

“Dean, you scared the crap out of me.” John grumbles. “Why the panic? I would have brought it with me tomorrow.” He scolds. 

____

“Yeah, I know dad. I just need it tonight.” Not sure why, though. “Sorry for scaring you.” He leans in to pat his father on the shoulder and steps back to wave him off. 

____

“Alright, Dean. Good night, again.” He smiles, shaking his head, slightly frowning at his son’s odd behavior.

____

Dean smiles back a little embarrassed at his outburst and yells at the retreating car, “See you in the morning, pop.”

____

…

____

Dean turns the key to his lock and braces himself for what he assumes will be an onslaught of welcome-home greetings from his closest friends. He’s not wrong. As soon as the door opens he's pulled inside by a pair of very large very strong hands; Sam.

____

"Dude, what took you so long? We had to start the party without you." He chuckles, slapping Dean good-naturedly on the back and hands him a beer. 

____

All Dean wanted was to collapse in his bed and remain unconscious for the next twelve to forty-eight hours. But the sight of his friends and their apparent joy at having him back, energizes him. "What the hell guys? You didn't have anything better to do than to harass me and wake my neighbors with your racket?" He says laughing and feeling better than he thought possible under the circumstances. "Seriously, though, it smells delicious and I'm starvin', someone point me to the grub."

____

Sam nods towards the kitchen and points to the large selection of appetizers spread across the counter. At the sight, Dean's stomach growls and his mouth waters, he hasn’t eaten all day, and now, standing in front of this feast, he realizes how hungry he truly is. He goes to grab a dish but stops dead in his tracks when he spots Lisa, sitting on one of the barstools, dutifully preparing a plate for him. 

____

_‘Ah fuck, now I'm surprised.’ ___

____

...

____

"Mmm, s'good." Dean says, forcing down the food even though he's no longer hungry. "You did all of this?" He asks knowing the answer. _‘Of course she did, it's all my favorites.’ ___

____

"Well, I did but Ellen helped." She replies, flashing him a seductive megawatt smile.

____

"S'real nice of you, Lis." He says cringing when she lays her hand on his thigh and leans forward to give him a small peck on the cheek. Dean just smiles stupidly, taken aback by the lack of emotion her proximity now brings. 

____

It's been seven years since she broke up with him, leaving him shell-shocked, confused and hurt. The pain he had felt at her rejection nearly destroying him. He knew deep down that it was for the best, at least for her best. 

____

Their romance was well on its way to a story-book-ending; marriage, children, stellar careers. But it all came crashing down during his brief, but devastating, tour of duty in Iraq. 

____

The chance to pilot a McDonnell Douglas F/A-18 Hornet was too huge a draw for the rookie pilot, eager to show the air force and his dad, that he had the right stuff. And when he jumped at the chance to be one of three pilots to fly from the USS Harry S. Truman on covert missions to the Gulf, Dean’s relationship with Lisa, as well as with John and Sam, quickly deteriorated. 

____

If only he had turned back when his plane hit that thick wall of black smoke rising from the raging oil wells set ablaze by the insurgents below. 

____

If only he had given the coordinates to his location a minute before his plane crashed. 

____

If only he hadn’t been captured to be tortured mercilessly on a daily basis by sadistic fucks that turned his captivity, while tolerable under the Geneva Convention, into hell on earth, under their cruel hands. 

____

If only he hadn’t given into his captor’s insistence that he join them in meting out retribution for the supposed injustices they had been forced to suffer under their country’s current regime and the United States unwanted and unwarranted interference.

____

Four horrifying months later, he was finally rescued by a team of Navy Seals led by Sam’s best friend Pilot Officer Gabriel Novak. 

____

Upon returning to the US, Dean spent nearly a year undergoing intensive physical and psychological therapy. And, as soon as he was able, he actively sought penance for his crimes by formerly requesting his own court martial. Of course, thanks to Bobby, no charges were ever brought up against him. And, whatever atrocities in which he might have been a participant, were dismissed or explained away as coerced by the enemy.

____

He quickly spiraled into a state of self-loathing that no amount of therapy or coddling from Lisa could ever fully treat. A trauma that resulted in him wallowing, for years, in the comforting bosom of self-doubt and pity. 

____

His career screeched to a standstill, lacking motivation placed him at the bottom of his class, and constantly not measuring up to John's expectations, left him perpetually miserable. Of course, Lisa left him, as far as he was concerned he was a loser and a complete failure. He wasn't worth her time or effort. At the time, he was convinced he would never be whole again, in-love again, and certainly not deserving of it.

____

_'Until… ___

____

He shakes himself out of his reverie, quickly stopping the direction in which his thoughts are spiraling. Enough. He focuses instead on the now. He’s admittedly in a much better head space, has been for the past two years, working his butt off to earn the top spot on his team and promoted to Captain. 

____

_'Yeah, I’m good, I can do this.’_ And again, sends a silent thank you to his brother. 

____

It wasn't until Sam was recruited by NASA that Dean's life finally turned around. Actually, now that he thinks back on it, his ambitions and goals found focus under both Sammy and Gabriel's encouragement. As much of a dick that Dean thinks he is, Gabriel, recruited at the same time as his brother, was instrumental to his current successes. If he's being honest, they both inspired him to get better, not give up, and reach for his potential.

____

So now, feeling nothing deeper than the warm affection he would for a close acquaintance, being with Lisa in the way that he had so often prayed they could be once again, is anti-climactic, to say the least.

____

"Dean," Lisa prods. "Baby, are you okay? Oh what a stupid question, of course you're not okay. You must be exhausted.” At his silent nod, she leans closer to give him another affectionate kiss and standing up announces, "Everyone!” She yells to be heard over the din of voices and pounding music. “Thanks so much for coming, but our hero here, needs his rest.” She gestures down at Dean, gracing him with a warm smile and placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. She looks back up at the mass of expectant faces and says, “So this is goodnight."

____

The crowd murmurs its disappointment. “Aw, come on Lisa, the party just got started.” Jo whines her displeasure, walking towards the pair on the couch and plopping gracelessly onto Dean’s lap. “Dean, I haven’t even had the chance to complain to you about Sam.” She pouts, resting her head on his shoulder. “He forced me to help him hold Charlie and Benny hostage in command center for days.” She says with an exaggerated roll of her head. 

____

“Jo, how much have you had to drink?” Dean asks pulling away and turning her face away from his. “’Cause whew, if anybody lights a match in front of you the whole place will go up in flames!” He says making a gagging gesture.

____

“It’s mom’s fault. We were having a shots contest against Benny. I won!” She says triumphantly, perking up at her accomplishment. 

____

“Joanna-Beth, get off that boy’s lap.” Ellen, Jo’s very formidable mother, snaps. 

____

“Not harming him, much.” Jo says defensively, giving him a very loud kiss, and to Lisa’s great relief, climbs off.

____

“Argh, gross Jo!” Dean cries out, grinning. “Seriously, not so much tongue next time.” He chides. “Ah, fuck!” He yelps, as the air is knocked out of him from the weight of Benny’s enormous bulk crashing down on top him. “Get the fuck off me, man! Can’t breathe.” He wheezes. 

____

“Aw, come on baby, I have some complaints I wanna share about Sammy too.” Benny mocks playfully. “Sammy pinned me down for days at a time forcing me and Charlie to do unspeakable things until we told him what he wanted to hear, my Captain.” He slurs, leaving a trail of sloppy kisses on Dean's cheek.

____

“Umph, g’off!” Dean groans.

____

“Benny, dude, enough.” Sam steps in laughing, grabbing his friend by the arm, and yanking him off his brother. 

____

Benny gets up willingly, but in the last second reaches back to pull Dean towards him by the neck, planting a very wet and loud kiss on his lips, cackling evilly at Dean and the crowd’s reaction.

____

His friends continue to laugh and throw suggestive comments like, _'Yeah we bet he's gonna get lots of rest tonight.' _And, _'Hey Dean, once you're rested, what kinda ride you gonna be giving Lisa?' _\- Was that Victor? God my friends are five year olds - He frowns, lowering his head in shame.____

____

"Guys, come on. Show a little restraint, you bunch of degenerates." Sam steps in, rescuing him yet again.

____

"Sammy's right you low-lifes." Gabriel chimes in. "Our fearless leader needs his beauty rest." He turns his attention to Lisa. "How about it pretty lady, care to be escorted home by a very good looking eligible bachelor?" He asks her, offering his hand along with his most charismatic smile.

____

"Gabriel." She giggles, blushing prettily. 

____

"Get lost squirt, I'll take her home." Dean warns, but with no real heat; the ingrained behavior to protect her, now only a reflex.

____

Something dangerous flashes so quickly in Gabriel's eyes that Dean barely registers it. "You absolutely sure about that Dean-o?" Gabriel asks, his amber eyes cold and calculating.

____

"Well, on second thought..." Dean says, looking thoughtfully at his friend and turning to Lisa asks, "Mind if Gabe drives you home, Lis, 'cause I'm beat?"

____

"Don't be silly Dean I'm not going anywhere." She scoffs at the suggestion and grabs his hands, oblivious to his discomfort. "Thanks, but no thanks, Gabriel." She says graciously to the young astronaut. "I'm keeping Dean company tonight. I don't think he should be alone after such a long ordeal." She clarifies.

____

"Lisa, don't worry about me, Sammy's here.” Dean protests. “He'll take care of me." He corrects looking over to his brother, imploringly.

____

"I'm afraid not, sweetie. Sam's got plans for tonight, right Sam?" She says, shaking her head and directing her gaze to his fidgeting brother. 

____

"Ah yeah, I guess. I mean, I do. But I'll stay if Dean needs me." Sam says tentatively, obviously uncomfortable under Lisa's regard and not so sure anymore that he did the right thing in orchestrating their reunion. 

____

One more look at his brother makes up his mind. He screws up his courage and leans towards Lisa. "Lisa, come with me a sec, I need to ask you something." 

____

"Sure Sam." She angles her head closer to Dean and excuses herself. "Be right back, baby." She whispers turning his face gently with her hand and placing a long sweet kiss full of meaning over his closed lips. 

____

Dean kisses back, not meaning to, but the melancholy nostalgia of their failed romance and his innate need to please, make him want to set this right even though his head is screaming no. 

____

When they move apart, her smile is bright and her eyes are full of hope. 

____

Dean smiles back, and as she walks away wonders, _‘Maybe, I should give this another shot. We could make it work. Rebuild our lives around each other. This is right, this’ll be good.’ _He reasons, trying desperately to convince himself that a future with her is what he really wants.__

____

Sam takes Lisa aside to a more private corner and confides his miscalculation of their shared plan. "I think Dean wants to be alone tonight. Let me take you home, okay?" At her hard stare, he explains, "Look at him, he hasn't had a moment to himself since he's been back. Let him process all of this just for tonight, okay. We'll get you for breakfast in the morning. Deal?" 

____

"Sam?" She asks sadly. "I don't understand. You told me Dean's never stopped thinking about me or us together. And just now, the way he kissed me… I'm getting mixed signals here." 

____

"Yeah, I saw that too. But I can also see he's running on empty, Lisa. Look, I know my brother, and trust me when I tell you that he's just going through the motions, every reaction's just a reflex, like he's not really thinking straight." He says, hoping that she’ll understand.

____

Lisa looks down in defeat. "Very well, Sam. I suppose I can wait one more day. Heh," She huffs softly. "After-all, I've waited this long. I'll give him his space." She nods decisively. "I won't push. I'll go get my things."

____

…

____

While Lisa prepares to leave, Sam recruits Gabriel to help him heard the crowd out. It turns out to be harder than expected when a disgruntled Jo and Benny turn their second game of shots into an impromptu make-out session.

____

"Now that's an image I would have been all too happy to never have seen, like, ever." Sam grouses, taking hold of the pair and forcibly hauling them towards the door. "Seriously, Jo, you're lucky Ellen already left. Speaking of, how the hell are you getting home now?" 

____

She and Benny turn to Sam and give him, twin, mischievous grins. "Don't you fret over this lovely young lady.” Benny drawls. “I'll make sure she gets to bed safely." He smiles wickedly, hinting of his diabolical plans in the wink he sends Sam. 

____

Sam gawks, more than a little surprised at this turn of events. _‘Hmph, never realized Jo was into big and burly.’ ___

____

He stares, wide eyed taken aback by Benny's lewd insinuation and at the sight of Jo clinging shamelessly to his broad shoulders. Sam removes his hands as if burned and walks back. "Okay, then. Have fun you two?" He questions frowning, and to Benny whispers, "Dude, just so you know, you won't have to worry about what Ellen would do to you if anything were to happen to Jo. Do I make myself clear?" He side eyes him and with a menacing glower, walks away to get Lisa.

____

…

____

It takes Sam, with Gabe's help, another five minutes to empty the house. He walks over to Dean's slumped form on the couch, gives him a reassuring squeeze on the shoulder and tells him that he'll be back soon. 

At Sam's cue, Lisa sits down and scooting close to Dean wraps her arm around his bicep and hesitantly leans her head on his shoulder. Dean closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. He hates the deep sense of guilt settling in his gut that he gets from the nervous energy he can feel radiating off her.

____

"See you in the morning?" She asks hopefully.

____

"Sure, you have a good night, okay." He tells her looking steadily into her warm brown eyes. "And thanks for the party. It was a real nice surprise." The smile they share, a silent agreement that what they have is not over, still salvageable. 

____

_‘But it shouldn't be. I'm different now. I'm not so sure I want a life with you anymore.’ _These truths scare Dean, so he pushes them away, tucking them out of sight.__

 _‘It’s not like I have somebody else waiting for me.’_ He hates to admit and walks her out to Sam's waiting car. 

____

...

____

Finally, blissfully alone, Dean heads upstairs to take a well-needed shower. Midway up, he pauses.

_‘My bag!’_

Where the fuck did Gabriel put it?" The duffle's whereabouts have been nagging him ever since Gabriel took it from him when Dean first walked in, a little too eager and rougher than necessary, he remembers irritatedly. 

____

_'Gabe, I already told you I didn't get you a souvenir, you douche.'_ He snapped at the time. All he had gotten in return was a snicker from the prankster. _Dick!_

____

Dean walks back downstairs cursing the whole time under his breath. "Fuck is it?" He says aloud growing more and more agitated the longer the search takes. Finally, after making a quick run-through the living room and dining room, he spots it propped up against the entrance hallway closet. "There you are." He bends down to pick it up, exhaling a breath he didn’t realized he was holding and turns to go back upstairs. 

____

He empties the bag’s contents onto his bed. As expected it’s just a random selection of assorted sundries, nothing out if the ordinary, nothing special. He's not really sure why it was so necessary to keep it close all this time, why he had become so obsessed with it. "I'm fucking losing my mind." He mumbles to the empty bag and sighs a disappointed breath. “It’s not like I expected anything special to be tucked away in here.”

_I just hoped there was._

"Fuck this." He growls and heads to the bathroom.

____

...

____

He leans his head back against the hot spray of water, relishing how the pressure gradually loosens the knots and kinks that have been getting increasingly tighter as the day progressed, from his sore body. He moans in pleasure, running his soapy hands over his torso, up and around his neck, back down his sides pausing at his hips. He works the bar of soap into a frothy lather, puts it aside, and gently starts massaging his balls with one hand while stroking his hardening dick with the other.

____

"Ah..." He gasps as he works his cock to full hardness. His rhythm is slow but his grip firm. _'Just like Cas' mouth.'_

____

"Cas-" he moans, as the hand stripping his shaft quickens its pace, thumb circling the head and the hand fondling his balls glides towards his hole, rubbing around the tight pucker for a long teasing moment, before finally breaching it. He bites back a groan when his finger pushes into the knuckle. "Fuck me." He exhales into the thick steam of the room, and pushes in a second digit. 

____

He can feel his orgasm building as he scissors himself open and jerks his fist faster and faster. He means to concentrate on Lisa's face, her breasts, her cunt, in order to get himself off. But it’s the image of Castiel, with his dark tangle of hair, full pink lips, striking blue eyes, and long thick cock that pushes him over the edge. "Fuck, Cas..." He whimpers stroking himself through his orgasm.

____

...

____

The kiss is sweet and gentle, almost chaste. The fingers running up his flank are nervous, shy. It's not enough, he wants more. He grabs, taking a firm hold, his tongue demanding, his hands bruising. "Dean, stop!" Lisa pants breathless. "You're hurting me!" The fear in her voice, the edginess, finally wakes him. 

____

"S…sorry." He stutters, unsure how he got to this point. Last thing he remembers was wishing to have a good night's rest after his very satisfying shower.

____

"Lis, what the hell?" He yelps, pushing back against his headboard, clutching the blankets to his chest, trying desperately to hide his morning wood.

____

"Well, it's morning, and you promised me breakfast." She tries to explain. "Just thought I'd give you a morning kiss, is all. Wasn’t planning on getting mauled, though.”

____

"Morning kiss? More like a friggin heart attack." He complains. 

____

Her sweet demeanor turns thunderous at his comment."Argh, honestly Dean, I'm really trying here, but you say one thing and then act another way and vise-a-versa." Her words spill out, totally frustrated. "Baby, please be honest with me." She pleads. "You gotta tell me, once and for all, where we stand. I mean, it's not like I can read your mind, ya know."

____

And that’s when it hits him, the truth of her words, the truth of his predicament. 

____

"M'sorry." He says sheepishly, bowing his head, ashamed. 

____

The silence between them, heavy with apologies, stretch out for minutes. He exhales sharply and proceeds to tell her the truth. "You're right, you can't read my mind. And I can't expect you to know what I want. It's not fair to you or us." He looks up, steels his resolve and says, "Lisa, I don't have it in me to give us another shot." He holds his hand up and ploughs on before she can protest. "I don't want another chance. I'm so sorry, babe." That's it, he's got nothing left to say. He drops his head, letting it fall between his knees.

____

"Oh Dean." She sighs. "I only want you to be happy. It's all I ever wanted for you." She tugs at him, trying to get him to look up. "Please don't feel guilty. We both know this is for the best. Now that we're being completely honest, we can admit that neither one of us is going to be too heart-broken if we don't make it, right?"

____

"Right." Dean agrees reluctantly.

____

"Right.” She repeats sadly. “Okay then, on that note..." She stands up, leaning forward she takes his face in both of her hands, and gives him one last good-bye kiss. "Take care of yourself okay, or else." She warns and smiling warmly leaves him to the heavy weight of loneliness that's slowly creeping in and threatening to suffocate him. 

____

...

____

Once the door clicks shut behind her, he plops back down, cocooning himself in mounds of blankets. "What the fuck did I just do?" He asks himself angrily. "What was I thinking?"

I was thinking of blue eyes and full lips, strong hands and six feet of long lean muscle. Someone that somehow magically knows exactly what I want. That's what I was thinking.

____

He bites back a groan and turns onto his side, burying his head under his pillows. He's upset and distraught. 

____

_‘Nah-ah, I'm fucking pissed!’ ___

____

"God damn this shit." He mouths into his pillow."Fuck, Cas. Why couldn't you be real? Fucking wish you were here, man."

____

Then, as if by magic, Dean hears, "Your wish is my command, Master."

____

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dean's mission in Iraq was an actual account of real pilots crashing and taken hostage during the Gulf War. I jostled a few facts around for the purposes of this story.


	4. Dream On

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "But, how?" Dean asks, reveling in Castiel’s touch, turning his face to place a tender kiss against his palm. “You’re only a dream.” He sighs against the warm skin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I may not be able to post nxt Monday, so I hope this extra long chapter makes up for that.  
> There be lots'o porn ahead!  
> Enjoy and thanks for reading and commenting!

"Hello, Master." Castiel says cautiously sitting cross-legged on the edge of Dean’s bed.

"You…you're not real." Dean stammers, eyes boggling from the djinni's sudden appearance..

"Of course I am, Master. You wished for me to be here, and here I am." The djinni responds gently. He tilts his head at Dean’s shocked reaction and inching closer, reaches out to calm him with a caress to his cheek.

Dean leans into the touch, unable to deny his body's overwhelming urge to feel the djinni's touch again, to prove that he's real.

"Dean, I missed you." Castiel confesses, his eyes (God what gorgeous eyes) search Dean’s face, hope and fear, vivid in their blue depths.

"But, how?" Dean asks, reveling in Castiel’s touch, turning his face to place a tender kiss against his palm. “You’re only a dream.” He sighs against the warm skin.

“How can you say that?” the djinni, asks shocked confusion replacing the former elation he felt from his Master’s summons. He swallows hard, heart beating so loud he wonders if Dean can feel it though their connection; if he would burn from the fire raging at his core because of their nearness.

“Cause…” ‘ _You’re too good to be true.’_ Dean wants to say, but instead, shrugs and avoids voicing his true feelings by licking Castile’s palm, running his tongue up one finger, and sucking it into his mouth.

Castiel gasps at the gesture and lunges. He pushes Dean back, pins his arms down, and straddles his hips. "Dean, please..." He begs against his Master's lips.

"Yeah, Cas." Dean nods, because he knows without hearing the words what the djinni wants. He runs his fingers through Castiel's hair and pulls his face closer. “I missed you too.” He admits and seals their lips in a delicate kiss.

The kiss is gentle, tender, a soft press of lips, unhurried and sensual, until they both open their mouths, and then it isn’t. Their tongues meet in a wet, hot slide of lips and saliva, savoring each other’s flavor, drawing confidence and strength from their mingling essences.

Dean runs his hands down Castiel's back, fingers dancing over each vertebrae, caressing each rib, grabbing his ass in a bruising grip. “Want you so much, Cas." he moans into Castiel's neck and clamps down hard on the tender skin, biting until the djinni whines in pleasure or pain, Dean's too far gone to tell the difference.

"Ahhh...Master, yes, more." Castiel moans, the deep rich baritone of his voice provoking Dean to delve deeper, to tear into him and take him apart, unmake him in order to re-make him into the perfect lover.

_‘My perfect lover.’_

The wicked thought makes Dean’s body shiver and his dick, harden.

Castiel breaks the kiss and pulls back. With his knees on either side of Dean’s hips, he takes a moment to appreciate the gloriously debauched sight of his Master beneath him. How his vibrant green eyes are now mostly black from arousal. How his freckles, like constellations, stand out against the deep blush running from his chest to the tips of his ears. How red and swollen his lips are from Castiel’s kisses.

He places a hand on Dean’s hip, fingers brushing over the fine hairs that lead a straight path towards the growing bulge in his pants. Leaning over, he trails his lips, feather light, over Dean’s goose-fleshed skin, grazing from the astronaut’s curved jaw down towards his nipple, catching it between his teeth and worrying the hard bud until Dean’s hiss of pain forces him to pull off and soothe it with the flat of his tongue.

He moves his hands lower and gently pulls Dean's pants off, smirking smugly from his Master’s strangled gasp when his cock springs free.

"Fuck-" Dean chokes out, breathless.

"Yes Master, that's exactly the plan." Castiel whispers in his ear. "Fuck me."

Dean's mind stalls, almost whiting out at the single filthy word. It's too much and not enough, not nearly enough. He grabs Castiel by the shoulders and flips their positions, ravaging his mouth to claim him with teeth and tongue.

He's all carnal desire now, wanting and needing, his cock twitching angrily from the loss of Castiel’s touch. He licks a trail from temple to sternum, holding the writhing man down with his hands to keep him from bucking when he pauses to suck on the sharp edge of a hipbone. It’s the sexiest thing Dean’s ever seen and convince him that _one,_ there is a God, and _two_ , he must really love Dean Winchester. He latches onto it, sucking a deep bruise, biting hard on the bone until he feels the skin give and Castiel wail.

"Master...ahhh-" Castiel hisses, head pushing back against the pillows.

"Shhh, sweetheart, gonna make it better real soon." Dean promises, humming in approval at the sweet little noises the djinni makes at the ceaseless biting and sucking. He nips and laves a path over Castiel’s stomach, moaning and rubbing his face against its taut surface, inhaling deeply and drowning in his intoxicating scent.

_Mine!_

"Please…" Castiel begs, body shivering and unraveling from Dean’s assault.

Reacting to the djinni’s pleas, Dean attacks Castiel’s mouth with renewed vigor: swallowing his cries, digging his fingers into the firm flesh of his flank, sucking more bruises onto his craned neck, biting and kissing a trail down his body and pausing only when he gets to the waistband of his ridiculous harem pants.

_Fuck, I’m gonna to shoot my friggin load before I get him out of those stupid pants!_

He closes his eyes, braces himself on his elbows and takes a few deep breaths to calm the jackrabbit beat of his heart. When he feels more ‘in-control’, he lowers his head over the djinni's visibly tented crotch and nuzzles his face against his erection, parting his lips to suck on the thickened head through the silk fabric.

He starts to pull Castiel's pants down, slowly, one handed, taking his time, relishing the moment when his lover's cock is freed.

"My god you’re beautiful." Dean sighs, mouth flooding with saliva, awestruck by the naked and hot-as-hell man under him. He sucks in a breath, eager to taste and feel the velvet heat of Castiel's dick in his mouth. He licks a wet path up the underside of the djinni’s cock, tongue pocking out, wide and flat. He moves slowly, deliberately, his pace building and cranking up the anticipation not just for himself but also for the moaning creature beneath him.

"Dean, please!" Castiel’s sex heavy voice rumbles, tone needy, impatient. 

"Patience, Cas, wanna make this last. Trust me." Dean chastises alternately licking and blowing heated puffs of air against the djinni's spread thighs. "Lift your knees for me." He orders, voice horse and low, barely audible, but Castiel hears and obeys.

The sight is magnificent. So much so that Dean can't help but sit up and stroke himself a few times to relieve the building pressure behind his balls."Fucking shit, Cas." He groans dropping down into his former position, wrapping his arms under and around the djinni's muscular thighs, diving, mouth first, into Castiel's tight heat.

"M-Master!" Castiel yelps, canting his hips to give Dean better access while gently pulsing onto his tongue.

Dean’s tongue licks and stabs at the puckered hole, teasing it open, chasing a long line of saliva from the djinn's perineum to his balls, suckling one and then the other, moaning with pleasure even though his own cock goes untouched.

"Argh…!" The djinni groans, white knuckles fisting the sheets. "Gah…" He cries out when Dean kisses the crown of his cock and his tongue swirls around the sensitive head, slurping at the pre-cum glistening on the tip and finally, mercifully, swallowing him down.

Dean sucks hard, cheeks hollowing out, taking Castiel's dick to the root. He gags, eyes watering, gasping for air, loving the heavy weight of the djinn's cock in his mouth. He pushes down further, wanting to take it all, not stopping until he can feel the djinni’s cock hit the back of his throat, and swallows.

"Fuck! Dean...I...!" Castiel keens.

That's it. He has to pull off.

He could spend hours feasting on Castiel, but now is not the time. Next time, _because there definitely_ _will be a next time_ , he vows. But for now, all he wants to do is cum inside this gorgeous man - or dream, hallucination, fantasy - he doesn't care which anymore. Right now, his cock is in charge, and the boss is demanding to bury itself in the wet heat and tight grip of Castiel's hole.

He gets up and kneels between Castiel's legs, kissing each thigh before gently willing them to spread further apart. He bends down and pries the djinni’s lips apart with his tongue, giving him a taste of his own heady flavor while stroking his own dick.

“Ready for me baby, ‘cause I don’t think I can hold out much longer.” Dean asks, amazed that he’s lasted this long.

“Yes…want you…”

Dean braces himself on one arm and rubs Castiel’s hole with the other, circling the tightly puckered rim and loosening it with his fingertip.

_Fuck, lube!_

“Cas, ah, some lube would be nice.” He says, the ‘I wish for lube’, going unsaid, but understood.

His finger, suddenly coated with a warm slickness, slides in easily after that. He pushes until he gets to the knuckle, bending and twisting, working the tight muscle open before adding a second. His fingers work as a unit, corkscrewing, pumping in and out, slowly, tortuously, while Castiel pumps his hips desperate for more.

“Dean…get in me now!” the djinni demands, frustrated from the relentless teasing.

Dean shudders at the command, impossibly turned on by Castiel’s display of dominance, and eagerly complies. He swallows the soft moan that escapes the djinn’s lips when his fingers pull out and coats his shaft with more of the magical lube, stroking and spreading it liberally, before getting into position. He sits back on his knees, takes the djinni’s legs and guides them around his waist. Taking his dick in his hand, he presses it against the still tight pucker; head reeling from the sensation, his arousal ratcheting even higher from the rim’s springy resistance, and pushes in.

“Fuck, baby.” He groans. “Gonna fuck you so hard, you’ll still feel it next week.” He swears.

They howl out their pleasure in unison. Dean’s head spins with it, Castiel a quivering animal under him.

Dean pauses to catch his breath and to give them a chance to adjust to the intense heat and pressure of their coupling.

With an impatient grunt, Castiel tightens his legs around Dean’s hips and pulls him in deeper. “Move!” He orders, heated breath ghosting the shell of Dean’s ear.

“Yes, Master.” Dean teases mimicking the djinni, the reversal of dominance a powerful aphrodisiac, and one of his major kinks.

Following Castiel’s lead, Dean quickens his pace, snapping his hips, pushing deeper, going faster grunting with the effort.

The djinn’s rhythm is quick, unrelenting, brutal, and Dean is more than willing to keep up.

The steady thrusting of hips and the obscene sounds produced when his balls slap against Castiel’s ass, drive him dangerously close to the edge.

“Cas…fucking gorgeous!” he pants, heaving from the strain, capturing the djinni’s lips in a wet kiss. “Gonna cum, baby.” He warns and reaches between their bodies to grab Castiel’s bobbing cock and strip it in time with his thrusts. He strokes the djinni five, six times, eyes glued to the myriad expressions of bliss on his beautiful face, sparing only a glance to watch as his dick gets swallowed by Castiel's puffy hole, in and out and in and out, delicious, filthy.

“Master..." Castiel gasps when Dean caresses the plumb head of his dick with his thumb. “I’m…I’m-“ he cries and cums.

Dean knows he’s close, almost there, can feel the heat pooling in his gut, drawing his balls tight. He continues to fuck Castiel, incessant in his rhythm, but the added pressure and pulses around his cock from the djinni’s spasming hole and the sight of cum shooting out in long white stripes coating his torso and spilling over his hand, push him over the edge.

His orgasm punches out of him, spilling and filling Castiel until he’s completely drained, muttering a litany of curses and praises.

He collapses, basking in the warmth and afterglow of his climax, peppering the djinni’s face and neck with soft kisses. “That was…” He’s at a loss for words. ‘ _Awesome, amazing?’_ He can’t think of anything to say that will do justice to what they just experienced. So he settles for, “…The best fucking sex ever, Cas.”

“Yes, Master.” Castiel hums in agreement, dragging Dean closer, kissing his neck, holding him tighter, rubbing soothing circles around his back.

The act is tender, intimate, and under different circumstances, and definitely if it were with a different partner, Dean would have already pulled away, embarrassed and scared to show or accept any real depth of emotion. But with Castiel, it feels natural, right. Dean doesn’t want to analyze why this should be, so instead, he lets his body take over, and allows himself to melt into the warmth and love that radiates between them.

They lay there for a few moments, or a few hours, Dean’s unsure. His head feels fuzzy, buzzed from the mind-blowing sex. _‘Don’t really give a shit about the time.’_ he’s thinking when there’s a knock on the door.

"Dean, you up?”

_Fuck, it’s Sam!_

“Cas, quick, hide!” Dean hisses, rolling off the drowsing djinni and throwing blankets over his naked body.

“Yes, Master.” The djinni replies, immediately alert, and in the blink of an eye, gone.

_The fuck?_

“Dean?” Sam hollers from behind the door, his knocks louder more insistent.

“Yeah, Sammy, come in.” Dean says after a brief scan of the room, confirms that the djinni is truly gone.

Sam walks in, eying his brother suspiciously. “Dude, were you talking to someone?”

“What, no.” Dean scoffs. “You hearing things, bro. What time is it?" He asks, yawning in an exaggerated manner.

“Ah, around noon. We figured we'd give you some time alone after Lisa left. Speaking of, you okay with that?”

“With Lisa? Yeah, I’m ah, I’m good." He nods and means it. "It wasn’t meant to be, that’s all, okay.”

"You sure that's all?" Sam prods.

“Like I said, it’s no big deal. Me and Lisa have… grown apart."

“Yeah, but last night, the way you two acted and then you kissed her, and-“

“It meant nothing Sam, we’re over and that’s all.” Dean snaps, trying to keep his temper in check, even though his brother’s pushing all of his pissed off buttons. But it's not Sam's fault, he reminds himself, that he's permanently fucked things up with Lisa. He takes a calming breath, and in a gentler tone adds, “Look, there’s nothing to talk about, I’m good, she’s good. I’m not gonna break down and cry on your shoulder, wringing my hands and sharing a tub of ice-cream with you, if that's what you're getting at. So drop it for, Chrissake."

"Dean, how can you want to drop it? You've pined over her for years. I thought that if you two could just talk, and you got a chance to show her how you've changed, then maybe you could be together again. At least that was the plan." He argues.

"Well, that's where you made your first mistake. You thought. Wait, let me finish." Dean says tone clipped, totally pissed off now, raising a hand to stop Sam from interrupting. "Your second mistake was thinking that I still want her, 'cause news flash, bro, I don't." he shakes his head, pinched expression marring his handsome face. "And last but definitely not fucking least, people don't change, Sam, I'm still me. And that means that somewhere down the line I'll manage to fuck up again and let everybody down."

"Oh for the love of-" Sam huffs, exasperated, throwing his hands up. "Will you please get over your self-pity bullshit already, Dean? Listen, you can't keep falling back on that crap every time you feel a little afraid or insecure, because, I gotta be honest with you, man, it's getting old."

_Bitch is right._

"I understand if you don't want to open up to me about everything, it’s okay to keep some secrets, but I just want you to know that I'm here for you, okay." He steps closer to the bed, placing a hand on the brass headboard for support, for the strength to say what he's been wanting to tell Dean since his rescue. "I'm your brother, Dean, and I'm pretty sure I know you better than anyone, so don't try to tell me you're fine. I know that whatever happened to you on that island s'got you all fidgety and nervous. So please, no more bullshit, let me help you."

"Oh for fucks sake, Sam, okay, fine. You wanna know what happened? Fine I'll tell you. You won't believe a word, but here goes. The malfunction on the ship, me not being able to reach the control panel, getting stuck in my seat, crashing, all of that happened. But, ah-" _Here goes nothing. "_ When I came to, I was fine, a little shaken up, but no worse for wear. First thing I noticed was that the ship was totally trashed. I tried to get out, but the hatch door was stuck, the controls destroyed. I tried to open it manually, but it wouldn’t budge. Then it just swung open. It was the freakiest thing. I mean, it was stuck one minute and then opened on its own the next."

Dean takes a deep breath, exhales, giving Sam a chance to ask questions. "Still with me?" At his brother's concerned look and encouraging nod, Dean finally confesses the djinni's discovery. "When I was gathering rocks and bits of wood for the SOS sign, I came across a bottle. It was buried in the sand. Well, not really buried, just kinda sticking out mostly. Anyway, I picked it up, rubbed it, and out popped a djinni. He told me to make a wish and-" Dean is so caught up in his confession, in finally sharing this amazing find with somebody, that he fails to notice the look of hurt that quickly transforms into one of anger on his brother's face.

"Fine, Dean, I get it. Ha-ha, the joke's on me." Sam snaps, fed up with his brother’s stubbornness. "I'm done trying to get you to talk." He turns on his heels, mutters jerk under his breath and storms out. "And do me a favor, crack open a window, dude, 'cause it's freakin ripe in there!" He yells plodding down the stairs.

“Hey, I thought you liked my musk!" Dean shoots back, only slightly wounded at his brother's disbelief. _‘Can't say that I blame him, 'cause this shit is fucking nuts!’_ He admits, raising an arm to sniff himself. "Whew! Bitch does have point about the stink, though."

…

"Fucking Sam." Dean sighs rubbing his face with his hand and pinching the bridge of his nose in an attempt to stave off the building pressure that signifies an oncoming headache; and by the way he's feeling, it's going to be a doozy.

He looks up, startled, as if just remembering something very important. _And shit is it ever._ He jumps out of bed, pulls on a pair of sweats and whispers the djinni's name into the empty room.

"Cas, you-"

"Yes Dean?"

Dean spins around to find the djinni standing behind him.

“What’s your pleasure, Master?” He asks the innocent fluttering of his lashes belying the erotic double entendre. He sits on the bed, straddling the corner, spreading his legs in invitation, dressed again in his uniform; cropped embroidered vest and loose harem pants.

Dean can’t help but moan at the very alluring sight, and in two quick strides, is on his knees pressing his face against Castiel’s belly. “Cas…” he groans, inhaling deeply. “Smell so fucking good, man.”

_Fuck, if I could live right here in this spot, forever, I'd die happy!_

Castiel takes Dean’s face in both hands, cupping his jaw, and with only an inch of space separating them, purrs, "Thank you, Master.”

Dean pounces, landing on top of him, pinning the lighter man under his bulkier frame. “What are you trying to do to me, Cas?” he growls, lust heavy voice coming out low and menacing. He kisses the djinni, roughly. “Hm, make my cock explode with need? You trying to get me to fuck you, again? Now?” He asks through a ragged breath, pushing his tongue into Castiel’s mouth.

 _Gotta stop. Focus Winchester!_ He orders himself, and with one last punishing bite to Castiel’s swollen bottom lip, pulls off.

He lies on his back, panting heavily and chuckles at the small whimpering noises the djinni makes in protest to his withdrawal. “Cas, ‘nuff of that, okay baby.” Dean says when the djinni’s whimpers are soon replaced with groping fingers. He props himself up on one elbow to face Castiel and takes the djinni’s hand in his own. He trails the fingers from his free hand down the djinni’s toned chest, pausing when he spots a beauty mark over his right pectoral. _How the fuck did I miss that?,_ he wonders, kicking himself for the oversight.

He licks is lips, an unconscious gesture, and unable to resist, leans forward to kiss it. Dean’s body shivers with renewed desire the moment his lips press against the warm firm skin, turning his soft kisses into hungry licking and sucking. He lavishes all of Castiel’s chest with attention before turning his focus back on an already hardened nub. He sucks it into his mouth and rolls it between his teeth, tongue flicking it back and forth, making it wet and tacky, then bites.

Castiel hisses at the sensation but arches his back to give Dean better access to the reddened flesh.

 _Fuck, not again_ , Dean thinks as he leaves behind the djinni’s thoroughly abused nipple and licks a wet path towards his damn hipbones.

 _Stop! Think of something else. Sam. Sam with a snotty nose. Sam and his stupid hair. Sam and Gabe! Yuck! Yeah, that does it. My brother, boner-killer extraordinaire_. He pulls off, takes a deep breath, and hops off the bed.

“Cas, I have to run out for a little while, so…if you want, you can wait here for me, or you could go?” _Please stay, please stay, don’t go, don’t go_ , Dean repeats on a loop, running an anxious hand through his short messy hair.

“Go? No, Dean, I’ll stay with you. I would never leave your side, unless you wish it.” Castiel admits sadly. “But even then, I will be with you, out of sight, but only a call away. You see, it’s is impossible for you to release me.”

“Let me get this straight, you’re only here with me because you have to be?” It’s back to the same old argument. The reason he’d pushed the djinni away the first time. “Cas, look, don’t do me any favors, okay. You can go if want to. I’m not keeping you here.” He argues, voice pitching louder, the more upset he gets. “I’m nobody’s charity case.”

Castiel moves as if to get on his knees, then as an afterthought, stays seated. “Master, forgive me for not communicating clearly what it means for me to be with you.” He states voice steady and clear. “I want to be here. I desire to be here. You are my reason. You always have been.” His words firm, emphatic, brooking no argument. “I have been waiting for you for thousands of years, and now that I have finally found you, I will not willingly let you go.” He unfolds himself from his seated position, all languid graceful movements as he walks right into Dean’s personal space. He winds his arms around his Master’s waist and says, “You were made for me, Dean, just as I was made for you. I call you Master, but we serve each other.” He closes his eyes and lays his head on Dean’s shoulder, humming onto the warm skin, placing small kisses on the firm muscle.

Dean’s shocked and taken aback, yet completely relieved and totally on board with Castiel’s declaration, but at the same time feeling unworthy of such unwarranted adoration. “Wow, Cas, warn a guy before giving him your heart like that, okay.” He jests. He grabs the djinni by the shoulders and holds him at arm’s length, adding in a more serious tone, “I honestly don’t know what to say, man. I mean, we just met. You get why this feels so sudden, right?”

But that’s not the whole truth. He wants to tell the djinni that he feels the same way. That before Castiel, his heart and soul, felt empty, languishing on an endless string of one-night stands, trying to convince himself that he had found what was missing with Lisa, but eventually realizing she too was a poor substitute. His chest clenches at the forlorn look on Castiel’s beautiful face. He feels strongly for this man, he can’t deny it, but he’s afraid.

 _I’m too messed up. He’ll realize it soon enough and leave._ _He’s a fucking djinni! Definitely out of my league_. His heart wants to scream, ‘ _I fucking love you!’_ But can only stare dumbly as the djinni’s face falls.

“Dean?” The denial in Castiel’s voice unmistakable. “You have to stop this senseless self flagellation!” he snarls understanding innately what Dean is obsessing over and upset that the man he loves considers himself unworthy.

Dean pushes the djinni off. “Cas, god-damn it! I told you, no more mind reading.” He glowers at him, furious, but not sure if it’s because his thoughts were violated again, or because the djinni can read him so well, knows his deepest fears.

“Dean, you ever coming down?”

_John, this time._

Startled out of their argument, both human and djinni turn and stare at the closed door.

“Listen, I gotta go. Sam and my dad are waiting for me.” Dean walks past Castiel to grab a pair of jeans and a t-shirt. “Like I said before, you can stay if you want. I’ll be back in a little while.” He says again from the doorway and shrugging in a nonchalant manner, walks out without looking back.

“I’ll be here, Master.” Castiel, frowning, replies to the empty room.

…

"I was about send up another search party, son." His father jokes from his seat at the diner, meeting Dean's eyes over his menu. "Rest well?"

It's a loaded question and it causes his insides to squirm with a multitude of jumbled feelings – _Confused. Angry. Disappointed. So fucking happy I'm ready to burst out in song. Terrified that I might be in-love? Scared shitless that I'll fuck it up? Ruin everything. Ruin Cas!_

In the end, he settles for, "Yeah, pop, I slept great."

"Good." John replies, giving Dean a look that communicates he's not at all convinced with his son's answer but will drop it, for now. "Eat up we have a busy day ahead."

"Sorry?" Dean does a double take, looking over to Sam then back to his father. "I was kinda hoping for some time off."

"I know son, but we need to find out what happened out there, why you crashed." He leans closer to Dean and in a hushed voice adds, "We need to know why there's a twelve day lapse in your memory."

"Simple, just unconscious." Dean's flippant response triggers a spark of anger in his father's eyes and an incredulous snort from his brother.

"Cut the crap, Dean. You can't honestly tell us you're not curious to know the how and the why to this mystery." Sam challenges, large arms draped over the table, fiddling with his unopened straw.

"Easy, Sam." John scolds his younger son. "Your brother's been through a very traumatic experience, show a little sensitivity."

"Sensitivity? Me?" Sam blusters. "Dad, out of the two of us, I'm the most understanding one. Dean's just stalling, he-"

"Bulls-eye! Right in the kisser!" Dean fist pumps the air at the perfectly aimed spitball that effectively shuts his brother up. He leans back in his seat, smug grin on his face. "How about you can it, Sammy? Like dad say, stop being such a whiny insensitive ass."

"Screw you Dean. And just so you know, I'm gonna get to the bottom of this and when I d-"

"Enough." John orders with the authority of a father. Turning his attention on Dean, and in full General mode says, "Dean, we’re going back to the hanger. The recovery team brought the capsule in yesterday afternoon and located the black box. We're gonna meet with Charlie and her crew and hopefully get some answers."

That was the end of that, argument over. His father’s word, always final.

"Yes sir." Both sons reply like the good soldiers their father raised them to be.

"Good." John exhales. "Now that that's settled, let’s get the waitress to take our orders so we can get out of here."

"We could have been at the base already if somebody hadn't slept half the day away." Sam mutters under his breath, purposefully provoking Dean, smirking in satisfaction when Dean glares back.

…

There’s a large group of specialists already gathered around the capsule’s wreckage when they get to the hangar.

“Attention!” a lieutenant Dean doesn’t recognize shouts when the General walks in.

“At ease, men.” He says walking towards the marked assortment of debris, stopping when he gets to Charlie. “Lieutenant, what can you tell me?”

“Ah, yes General, sir, um, it seems that this here black box has only served to add more questions to my already long list.” She answers eyes sparkling at the revelation.

“What the hell does that mean?” Dean asks, irritated with the possibility of a prolonged delay in the investigation. He knows what he knows and it’s not enough. He, like the rest of the team, wants to find out the missing key to the origins of this increasingly mysterious crash.

“Oh, hi Dean, Sam, sirs.”

“Yeah, hi. So you wanna share what you mean about the black box with the rest us?” Dean asks again, his patience wearing thin.

“’Course.” Charlie bends over the badly dented box, wrenches the lid off, and flips the play dial.

The beginning of the recording is a mixture of the conversations between all of the mission’s engineers counting off systems checks and the diagnostics of the flight as well as Dean’s banter with Charlie and Benny. The gathered group listens as the good-natured teasing turns into frantic yelling when the computer’s alarm goes off, then, nothing.

“I don’t get it. It’s just static.” Sam observes, leaning over the box to see if the recording is still playing.

“Yes, exactly!” Charlie says excitedly, punctuating the discovery with a fist in the air.

“So what? Machine’s just busted.” Dean points to the most obvious conclusion.

“That’s what I thought at first. But I kept listening, pausing and fast forwarding, and by day four, I started to hear voices.” The awed looks from everyone around her, give Charlie the courage to continue. “Voices, as in more than one, not just Dean’s. There’s definitely another person speaking, sounds like another male.”

“Another male? I mean, how do you know it’s another guy? Probably just me talking to myself. ” Dean questions her casually, while his insides twist with tension at what this discovery could mean.

“Nah, definitely not just you, dude. Oops, I mean sir.” She corrects, blushing and embarrassed. “The other guy s’got a real deep rough voice, s’far as I can tell. He’s probably the one that patched you up, Dean. Bet if we find him, then maybe we can get the answers we’ve been searching for.”

The heat rising in Dean’s face, as if he were under a spotlight, has him feeling dizzy. ‘ _Damn it, Cas._ _They’re gonna find out. I won’t be able to protect you.’_ With these thoughts barreling through his head, Dean realizes that he only has one choice; to protect Cas. He has to throw them off track, somehow. He has to keep Cas safe, he owes the djinni that much. Thinking of the terrifying alternative sends a chill up his spine.

“Charlie, how many hours did you say you listened to this tape straight, without pause?”

“I’ve been listening to it since the recovery team brought it to me. Um, let’s see, it’s been about eighteen hours since the capsule’s recovery, so about that long.”

“So you’ve basically been listening non-stop for the past eighteen hours? Dude, no wonder you’re hearing voices. I would get a second opinion on this, stat.” He turns to his dad. “Sir, there’s no way we can trust what Lieutenant Bradbury thinks she heard. If I may, I’d like to listen and see what I can detect.” His heart thumps nervously in his chest, silently willing his father to accept his request.

“Wait a minute, Dean.” Charlie speaks up, her tone hurt and indignant. “You can trust me. You know perfectly well that I don’t need much sleep. As a matter of fact, when you were missing, I kept working to find your location while Benny and Sam snoozed.” She protests, daring anyone to contradict her.

“Charlie, buddy, sorry. I didn’t mean to suggest that you don’t know what you heard. I mean, I’m sure you heard something, but this is too important to guess. I just want to listen to the recording and see if I can pick anything up. After all, I’m the one that’s out twelve days of memories.” Dean implores, feeling guilty for purposefully getting everyone to doubt her theory.

“I agree with Dean, Lieutenant.” The General says. “I want you to hand over all of the data you’ve collected to him.” To Dean he says, “You have three days to report back to me with your findings, Captain.”

“Three days, sir?” Dean asks, lips pressed in a thin line while he considers the impossibility of the task ahead of him.

“Yes Dean, three days.” The General responds, regarding him intently for a moment then adding, “That’s ample time for you and your brother to get a thorough reading on this recording. Do I make myself clear?”

“Crystal, sir. In three days you’ll have all the answers, General.” Dean replies, straight backed and holding firm to his confident façade, while his insides crumble into a jumble of nerves.

As soon as the General leaves, Sam rounds on Dean. "What the hell was all that about? Since when do you challenge anything Charlie has to say?"

"Look Sam, I don't have time to explain myself to you, just, please trust me and don't ask so many questions." Dean squeezes Sam's shoulder, clinging firmly to his younger brother's heavier bulk to steady himself. "Go get started, I'll see you in a bit, okay."

"Wait, where are you going? You can't just come in here, tear into Charlie and then dump everything on me. This was your idea, Dean." Sam looks pissed off, rightfully so, but Dean doesn't have the luxury of time to coddle him. "Sam, go get started, I have an errand to run, okay, Lieutenant." Dean tries to disguise the order as a request, but it only makes Sam more irate.

"Yes sir, Captain Winchester, sir." He replies icily saluting his brother and not lowering his hand until Dean officially dismisses him.

"Damn it, Sam! Do you have to act like such a whiny little bitch?" Dean hisses. "Fine." He huffs out. He steps away from his brother and turns to scan the room, looking for Charlie. When he spots the young engineer, nose deep in her computer, of course, Dean walks briskly her way. "Charlie?" he says quietly, placing his hand gently on her shoulder. "I wanted to come over and apologize for earlier. I really didn't mean to make it sound like you were wrong. I just have to do this." He apologizes lacing his voice with as much sincerity as he can muster.

"No problemo, Dean. I totally get it. And don't worry about that scene you pulled, it takes more than a few hysterics from my favorite Captain to ruffle my feathers." She smirks, smacking Dean's arm lightly, meaning every word and jab she just threw at her long time friend.

Dean chuckles, relieved. "So we're good?" He asks knowing the answer.

"Always, dude."

"Awesome. Uh, listen I gotta run. Do me a favor and give everything you've got so far to Sammy, bitch has been itching to get started." He lies.

"You got it, Cap." she salutes and turns back to her monitor. 

On his way out, Dean gives Sam a thumbs-up and picks up his pace as the weight of his growing anxiety begins to suffocate him.

…

The rumble of his car’s engine helps to soothe his frayed nerves on the drive home. He brainstorms, dissecting his dilemma from every possible angle until he believes he has come up with the most successful solution. "Gotta mojo the recording."

The Impala's tires screech to a halt inches from the garage door, _no time to wait for that damn thing to_ _pull up._ With no hesitation, Dean jumps out the car, runs into the house, and yells for the djinni as he dashes up the stairs to his bedroom with every intention to ask Castiel to use his magic on the incriminating tape.

"Cas! Hey, Castiel!" He yells storming through the door.

"Hello Dean." The djinni is seated on his bed, legs crossed in front of him, palms facing up resting on his knees, meditating, the image serene and more than a little erotic.

Dean's heart immediately begins to flutter, a million butterflies beating against the cage of his ribs, desperate to escape and surround the djinni, alighting on every surface of his perfect body, caressing and kissing him with their wings.

_When the fuck did I grow a vagina?_

"Ah, sorry if I'm interrupting but I have to talk to you about something really important." He pants, winded but not from his flight up the stairs.

Castiel unfolds his long lithe limbs and climbs off the bed.

"No, sit. Stay there, I'll sit on this chair." Dean grabs the seat from his desk, turns it to face Castiel and sits with a loud grunt.

The djinni regards Dean through narrowed eyes. After a long moment, his features soften, full lips curling into an almost smile. "What’s your wish, Master?" He asks, bowing his head.

"Funny you should ask." Dean coughs, clearing his throat. Now that he's here, he struggles to find the words for what he's got planned.

In the end, he decides to start at the beginning.

"Cas, when I, ah…wow, never thought I'd ever be saying anything like this before, but here goes. When I freed you from your bottle, was that the first time you saw me?"

"No, Dean."

Dean's stomach drops. _(Does that mean he’s the reason for the crash?)_ he can’t help but suspect. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. "When was the first time, Cas?" He asks the snarl in his voice low and threatening.

"Exactly two thousand eight hundred and twenty days ago, Master." The djinn answers his gaze steady, never faltering.

Dean exhales loudly and drops his head into his open hands. "Cas," He mumbles into his palms. He lifts his face and at Castiel’s reply feels the coiled tension, however incremental, drain from his body.

 _That’s a lotta fucking years. Gotta ask him about that later, if there is a later. God, please let there be a later._ Dean desperately hopes.

"How about after the crash, were you the one that found me? Did you rescue me?"

Castiel cants his head, mulls over the question, longer than he should, in Dean's opinion, and finally says, "The first time I looked upon you in this life, was on the island, after you released me." He pauses, never breaking eye contact with Dean, studying him, memorizing him, recalling if he’s exactly as his mind envisioned him from his countless dreams and visions. "However, we did communicate. I sensed you immediately after you crashed. I had never cursed my wretched imprisonment more than I did that day." He growls, the low rumble of his voice resonating from the back of his throat distracting Dean, making him think that perhaps a break is in order.

He fantasizes about walking up to Castiel parting his lips with his thumb and slipping his cock in for some serious mouth fucking.

_I'm so screwed!_

"Cas," Dean exhales, his voice a dry rasp. He grips the seat’s armrests, white knuckles straining against the wood, and tries to rein in his out-of-control libido.

"I don't understand, man. If we didn't officially meet until you got out of your bottle, then how the hell did we “communicate”?" _God, I can't believe I just used air quotes,_ he groans inwardly.

"Because of our bond, Master.” The djinni answers matter of factly. “You are marked as mine, Dean, as I am marked as yours. Our link enables us to speak with our minds as well as with our voices. We did both. However, I found that yelling in a loud voice garnered the best results in waking you and keeping you alert during your recuperation. We talked of many things, shared many secrets." He smiles fondly, eyes amused at the recollection.

"Bond? Wait, what do you mean recuperation?” Dean asks brow furrowed in confusion. “I was perfectly fine when we met. Sure, I got a little banged up on impact, but I…I was perfectly fine.” he insists, but now he’s not so sure. Fleeting images, _or are they memories_ , of his leg twisted in an unnatural angle and grunting with the effort to breathe because of several broken ribs, nag at him.

“Don’t you remember” Castiel asks, worried when Dean, eyes full of fear, shakes his head in the negative. He reaches out and curls his fingers around his Master’s neck to pull him closer, lips so close they brush against the shell of Dean’s ear, and whispers, “Remember….” and blinks.

It’s as if a floodgate opens in Dean’s mind. Flashbacks of everything from his take off on the launching pad, to being thrown like a rag-doll around the cockpit when his harness snapped. To passing out when his head smashed, with a sickening crunch, against the windshield, and waking to excruciating pain from countless injuries, unable to get enough air into his lungs, sure that he had punctured one or both. And, then miraculously, inexplicably, falling out of the capsule and landing on the beach, sitting up and feeling fine, perfectly okay.

“I – I remember.” He says softly, placing his hand over the djinni’s. “It’s still kinda fuzzy, like looking through a foggy window. But at least now I understand how I was on that island for more than the one day I thought we were together.”

“Yes, Master, you were on that island for almost a fortnight before you freed me.” Castiel supplies.

“And you didn’t fix me up, but kept me company while I got better?"

Castiel nods.

_This shit gets more and more intense. I need a fucking drink, or ten._

"So then how did I get better?" he asks, voice cracking over the question, dread pooling in his gut.

"There was another presence there, Master. A presence I haven't sensed for over two thousand years, another djinni." Castiel explains.

Dean reels at the revelation, his already tenuous grasp on what happened, shot to shit. "The fuck you mean another djinni?” He squawks. “From what I remember, it was only the two of us there. And if you knew there was someone else there, why didn't you mention it?" He questions, staring hard at the djinni, poking a finger at his chest.

"I did mention it to you, Dean, as soon as he appeared.” Castiel replies eyes flashing annoyance, clutching the offending finger in a fist. “I also tried to communicate with him at first, but he either couldn't hear me, or chose to ignore me. I suspect the former, that he simply couldn’t hear my call. I'm fairly certain that it's our connection that opened the channels of communication between us. The bond we have only exists between djinni and Master; no other party will have the power to share in our thoughts because of our very intimate relationship." Castiel, still holding Dean’s finger, scoots closer to the edge of the bed, bracketing his Master’s knees between his spread legs. He places a hand on Dean’s muscular thigh, kneading it with strong fingers, and leans towards him. "I did warn you of his presence, I was afraid that he might kill you. But as soon as he appeared, I felt your pain lessening, your body mending." He speaks in hushed tones, blue eyes half lidded with want staring at Dean’s mouth, giving a sensuous sweep of his tongue to his own bottom lip, leaving it glistening, tempting.

Dean swallows, the dry click in his throat audible in the quiet room. "But I don't remember anybody else." He whispers, his face inching closer, closing the gap between their lips. "Why didn't you tell me when we met?" He's so close he could count the individual lashes fanning out and outlining Castiel's eyes, making the blue of his irises more vivid in contrast. He raises his hand to brush his thumb over the djinn's high cheekbone, to trace the sharp line of his jaw, to press against the plumpness of his parted lips. Dean shifts slightly in his seat trying to find a position where his hardening dick doesn’t press so painfully against his zipper, unconsciously palming himself with the other, to relieve the building pressure.

Castiel looks down at Dean's hand and when he sees the clear outline of his Master’s cock straining against the denim, he licks his lips again. He reaches down, gently pushes Dean's hand away and traces the visible shape with a long teasing finger; the tip of his own dick peeking out from the waistband of his loose pants.

A sharp inhale of breath, a low whimper, and Dean’s will breaks. He reaches out to grab at Castiel's arm, push his legs apart, fingers digging to bruise and mark the djinni’s smooth tan skin.

"Cas-" He croaks. "Please, why didn't you say something?" He repeats, marveling at his own clear headedness while being fondled so expertly by his djinni.

Castiel looks into Dean's eyes, his heated gaze locking him in place and without pausing in his ministrations, utters in a long low sigh of exhaled breath, "Because, Dean, when I finally laid eyes on you, my only thought was how much I wanted my Master to fuck me."

It’s like being struck by lightning, Dean feels his insides sizzle and his head explode. They close the distance and grab at each other; their bodies locking together, arms and legs tangling in a delicious struggle for dominance, lips connecting, tongues claiming; their movements so fast and furious that any onlooker would think they were in the throes of battle.

"Dean we found something!" Sam shouts excitedly and without knocking, barges in through the unlocked door.

…

This time instead of drawing together like magnets, Dean and Castiel pull apart as if plunged violently, into ice water.

“Oh my god, Dean, what the hell?” Sam yells, eyes bugging out from what he just witnessed.

Dean shoots up and rushes towards his startled brother, sputtering excuses, explanations, blocking the djinni from his view. “Sam, what the fuck man? Why are you crashing into my room without knocking?” He deflects.

He turns to look at Castiel. The djinni’s still where he left him, a debauched rumbled mess splayed obscenely on his bed, staring back at him with wide scared eyes.

 

Dean moves to introduce him to his brother, when he notices Castiel blink with a hard nod, and exhale in relief.

“Not a smart move there, little bro.” Gabriel says, stepping into view now that Sam’s enormous size is no longer blocking the smaller man.

Dean turns at the sound of Gabriel’s voice. “What the hell are you doing here? Where the hell is Sam?” He demands panic over his suddenly missing brother making him irrational.

“Don’t get your pink satin panties in a twist there, Dean-o, Sammy’s fine, right Castiel?” Gabriel asks the stunned djinni.

“Cas, what the hell’s going on? How the hell does this joker know you?” Dean rushes towards him, grabbing him forcibly by the arms, spitting his questions into Castiel’s face. “What did you do to my brother?”

“Nothing, Master, it wasn’t your brother I tried to remove from this room. It was the presence I sensed from the island that I tried to displace.” Castiel snaps back with a nod towards Gabriel.

“Oh yeah, about that, your powers don’t work on me, kiddo. I deflected the magic as soon as you shot your load. Sammy was, unfortunately, in the way, innocent by-stander and all, my bad.” Gabriel shrugs in lieu of an apology.

Castiel wrenches out of Dean’s hold and leaps at his brother. “Gabriel, what do you want? Why didn’t you show yourself on the island?” He roars, the rumble reverberating deep within his throat. “Why didn’t you release me yourself?” He storms, beside himself with a riot emotions. He stumbles back, falling into Dean’s arms, his fierce stare turning sad, wounded when he remembers the deep ache of betrayal that still lingers from their last meeting.

“Whoa, wait. Did you say, brother?” Dean interjects, steadying him . “You have got to be shitting me!” He steps away from Castiel, and asks, “You mean he’s a djinni too, the one that saved me?”

“Yes, Dean.” Castiel answers, sighing tiredly. “Gabriel, my brother, is a djinni too, a very powerful one.” he concedes with reluctance.

“Dean? You’re on a first name basis with this ape, Castiel? Nice.” Gabriel’s appalled stare raises Dean’s hackles and before either djinni can react, he swings, landing a heavy fist to Gabriel’s jaw.

“Dean no!” Castiel cries out, too late.

“Mother-fucker!” Dean barks, cradling his broken hand.

“Ouch, that looks like it hurts, Dean. Powerful one here, remember? You can’t harm me. Castiel can’t harm me.” He pauses, looks up as if deep in thought, and adds, “Pretty sure Michael and Dad are the only ones that are strong enough to smack me on the wrist and make it stick. So, I’d rein in that temper of yours if I were you.” He advises.

“You forgot Lucifer.” Castiel spits at his brother, gently tending to Dean’s injury. With a quick nod and blink, Dean’s hand is pain free, whole again.

“Luci? Wow, bro, you have been gone a long time. Pops kicked him out ages ago and sicced Mike after his ass. And believe me when I tell you, big bro made sure that bag of dicks was down for the count. So, let’s see, after Mike, and especially since both he and dad took a leave of absence, I’m the new sheriff in town.” He cocks his finger in a shooting gesture, shoots, and blows at the wisp of smoke magically rising from the tip.

Dean flexes his hand, gingerly, once Castiel releases it. “Thanks, Cas.” He says, giving him a small grateful smile. He looks at Gabriel, glaring at him angrily. “Listen you douche, I don’t give a shit about your dysfunctional family. All I care about is Sam, where the hell is he, you dick?”

Gabriel eyes Dean with a steely glare. “Don’t ask me, your boy here’s the one that zapped him outta sight. Ask him.” He replies coldly. “Oh, and Dean, never speak ill of my family again. It may not show, but I’m very protective of them, even little angel face Castiel there.”

“This is too fucking much.” Dean snarls. “Cas, I want my brother back here, now.” He orders.

**_BLINK_ **

“Dean, what the hell?” Sam, suddenly standing next to Dean, yells right into his brother’s ear.


	5. Suffer Well

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “What you're telling me is that Gabriel was the one to rescue you, and that, ah, Castiel, right?” he continues, nodding towards the very dour looking djinni. “…came out of a bottle? And was the reason we were finally able to locate you on that island because you ‘wished it’, your words not mine.” He says, voice laced heavily with skepticism, paraphrasing Dean's explanation of the past events.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posting this early cuz not sure if I'll get a chance tomorrow. And I probably won't be posting again this week. Busy and traveling becuz of the holidays.

"I'm just having a really hard time wrapping my mind around this." Sam says, carding unsteady fingers through his long hair.

“What you're telling me is that Gabriel was the one to rescue you, and that, ah, Castiel, right?” he continues, nodding towards the very dour looking djinni. “…came out of a bottle? And was the reason we were finally able to locate you on that island because you ‘wished it’, your words not mine.” He says, voice laced heavily with skepticism, paraphrasing Dean's explanation of the past events.

“In a nut-shell, yeah.” Dean confirms. “Look Sam, this all sounds crazy to me too, but you gotta believe me. I mean, why else would I try to convince you that Gabe’s some all-powerful being, if it wasn't true. Seriously, I can’t stand the prick.” He points out, gesturing with his thumb to the older djinni.

“Dean." Gabriel warns in a steely tone. “A little more appreciation would be nice, Captain. That’s twice, by my count, that I’ve saved your sorry ass.”

He throws in his face. Dean stares at him, studying Gabriel as if seeing him for the very first time. After a brief pause, he turns back to Sam. “What I don’t get is why I crashed in the first place. That ship was in perfect shape. Okay, so Gabe healed me, but that wouldn’t have been an issue if the capsule hadn’t crashed.” he recounts, working out verbally, the crux of their dilemma.

"Then I guess it’s a good thing Gabe was there to fix you up until we could rescue you." Sam considers looking over at Gabriel.

"Yeah, I suppose I should be saying thanks." Dean offers, voice fading out as he quietly mulls over all of their new information one moment, and rushing at Gabriel the next, grabbing him by the collar and yanking him out of his seat. "Care to explain how the hell you knew where I landed, and how it conveniently happened to be on the island where your long lost brother lay trapped?" He snarls. “And while we’re on the subject, why the fuck didn’t you zap me outta there yourself, since you’re so all-mighty.”

“Ah, well about that…” Gabriel replies in his most saccharin sweet voice, taking Dean's hands with his own and wrenching them off easily. He turns and plops back down next to Castiel. “I did have something to do with the actual crash,” he confesses, no shame in his tone. “But you were never really in danger, all powerful being here." He quickly adds when all three men stare back at him with shock and disbelief. "And anyhoo, even if something had gone screwy, I have the mojo to make things right." He states cockily, lifting his hands to halt Dean's verbal reaming. “Now, before you get over excited and all dramatic, I’ll gladly explain, but first, I'm starv-"

“Gabriel, explain what you did, now!" In the end, it’s Castiel that bears down on him, demanding he answer immediately.

He turns to Castiel, looking at him fondly and takes his hand. "Cassie, I had to do it. I had to make sure that Dean found you.” The fierceness of his tone, begging his brother to understand.

The way Gabriel softens in regards to him, reminds Castiel why he still loves his troublesome brother. With Castiel, Gabriel displays none of the snarkiness that the Winchesters believe to be his primary character trait. But Castiel is still unsure about Gabriel’s motives, and finds he still doesn't trust his brother after their turbulent history.

“Why the fuck, Gabe?” Dean growls all hope of keeping his composure gone in the face of Gabriel’s apparent deceptions.

“Watch your tone with me, Dean. I’m explaining myself to Castiel and Sammy. You, can go to hell.” he says menacingly.

“Please, Gabriel,” Castiel pleads, sounding sad and exhausted, reaching out to place a tentative hand on his brother’s shoulder. "Explain to my Master why you felt you had to sabotage his mission."

“Yeah, okay, Cassie.” He says softly and turns to face Sam. “Sam, remember when we first met in school and all you could do was talk about your brother, the “hero”?” He air quotes.

Sam responds by nodding curtly still in a state of shock over the drama that has become his life.

Gabriel huffs out a wounded laugh but continues. “Well, Sam went on and on about Dean’s merits, his stellar record in every field he tackled, blah, blah, blah. I thought this guy was too good to be true, know what I mean?” He shakes his head at the recollection. “We were all so impressed with your performance overseas…and then when you were…captured, I, well, I had to get you outta there. I mean, Sammy was devastated,” he looks over to his friend and gives him a small smile in apology for bringing up his most painful memory. “But even before your capture, I had a pretty good idea that you were, special, for lack of a better word and that you had a bigger mission ahead, one I couldn’t let you be late for.”

He leans into Castiel’s hand, places his own over it, and pats it gently before continuing.

“When I finally got back from my tour, I made a bee-line straight for Sammy.” Gabriel tells them with a softness and conviction that makes Sam’s heart do a pleasant little flip-flop in his chest.

”I hated being separated from you, Sam, so I applied to NASA when you did.” Gabriel confides, amber eyes shining brightly when he looks over at him. “And just like in college, we moved in together, went to training together, hung out together all the time. We shared every detail about our lives, well, mostly about yours and Dean’s-“

“Gabe, that’s because you refused to talk about your family.” Sam rushes to clarify.

“Yeah, well, we’ll get to that in due time. For now, it was the information you spilled about Dean that set about the course of events to my brother’s freedom.”

“What about me? What the hell was so interesting about my friggin life that had you two sitting around discussing it?” Dean asks gruffly.

Gabriel rolls his eyes at Dean’s sour attitude. “Don’t flatter yourself, Captain. Trust me, you were the least mentioned topic. Like I said, Sammy and I did everything together, “ he reminds him, wagging his brows suggestively. “So we were plenty busy without bringing your mundane story into the plot. Honestly, who would want to sit around talking about your endless self loathing, your chronic self destruction, your epic loneliness.” He checks off. “However, and that’s a big _but_ , when your birthday came up, the date of it anyway, did set off all sorts of alarms.” Gabriel turns to face his brother. “The date of his birth, Cassie, that’s what tipped me off.” he stresses, grinning widely, excited that it all played out according to fate. “That’s why it had to be Dean to man that mission. I had to make sure he was the one to land on that island. Okay, so you crashed, so sue me.” Gabriel snaps at Dean’s loud angry snort.

“Anyway,” He goes on, undeterred, “His birth date is January twenty-fourth, nineteen-seventy four.” Gabriel states it with the reverence the revelation deserves.

Castiel gasps, eyes growing large with awe. He looks over at Dean and chokes back a sob.

“What is it, Cas?” Dean asks reaching his hand out to Castiel, his voice even but concerned. "Wanna share why my birthday's so friggin' important, Gabe?" He says to Gabriel in a harsher tone.

“Dean that was the date that the great Hajji, our father, prophesied would be the birth date of my Master. He predicted this, as a gift to me, exactly two thousand eight hundred and twenty days ago, the day he imprisoned me.” Castiel answers cryptically. “You also share the same birth date of the One, the being that is fated to join with me and help bring balance to our troubled realm.” He rises to stand next to his Master. “You see, I disobeyed his will when I was very young and as a consequence, banished to my bottle. I was angry and foolish too and didn’t give his words the credence they deserved.” He drops his eyes and shrugs. “I couldn’t believe that I would ever be powerful enough to accomplish such an impossible feat. I doubted him, my brother and myself.” He states, brow pinched in concentration. “And because I didn’t follow the original path he laid out for me, he imprisoned me. No, that’s not right; he placed me in my bottle to protect me until you could rescue me.” He realizes, eyes alight with the revelation. “Don’t you see, that’s the proof that we were fated to be together.”

Castiel leans into Dean's body, wanting to touch him but unsure if he's allowed to be so bold in front of others. "I was meant to be imprisoned forever, but my father showed mercy, and made it so that I need only wait for your eventual arrival, to taste freedom once again."

Dean’s unsure how to react to everything the djinn have revealed about themselves and the role he’s supposed to play in their fates.

_Fate?_

Dean’s never been one to bow easily under the constraints laid out for him by others. Okay, perhaps his earlier choices revolved around his father’s plans for his future, laying it out for him from an early age with a trajectory always aimed towards NASA.

But this is invasive, intrusive, violating. That all of his choices, thus far, decisions he believed he had made of his own free will, have actually been orchestrated by another being. A djinni. But not just any djinni, the father of his djinni. It makes him incredibly uncomfortable to think what this could mean for them.

He wants to believe that they’re meant to be, fated to be as one. It’s a very romantic notion, but he can’t bring himself to agree with it. “Not a big fan over the whole idea of fate, Cas.” He eventually says, stubbornly disagreeing with the djinni’s assessment and squashing his hopes in one single heartless statement. “I believe we make our own destiny. Nobody’s gonna push destiny on me. I own my mistakes and take responsibility for them. I’m not gonna blame a God or Hajji or whoever, whenever I fuck up, okay.”

Castiel stands statue still: hands tightly fisted, jaw locked, eyes fixed on Dean’s.

He’s conflicted, on the one hand he’s struggling with an overwhelming urge to embrace his Master and convince him of his true value, of how highly he thinks of him with encouraging words and loving caresses. But on the other, he prays to his father for patience to keep him from pouncing and throttling Dean for his lack of faith and trust in his djinni.

“There’s nothing you can say that will make me believe there’s a higher power out there saying that I’m the one that’s supposed to fix your problems.” Dean argues, too obstinate to see his djinni crumbling in front of him. “Come on man, look at me.” He almost yells, hand beating his chest. “How am _I_ supposed to help _you_ fix _your_ world, when I can’t even get my own fucked up life in order.”

“Dean, you don’t me-“ Sam starts to say.

“What, Sam?” Dean spins on his brother, fixing him with a narrowed glare. “That I don’t mean what I’m saying? Look, let’s move on, alright?” He tells everybody head sick and heart weary with the subject.

Suddenly too exhausted and lacking the energy to placate his Master, Castiel’s tense stance deflates in the face of Dean’s diatribe. And therefore, unsure where to start to help Dean mend his severely damaged self-image, or at least convince him that _‘good things do happen’,_ the djinni decides to excuse himself and meditate on the matter. He’s hoping its calming effects will soothe his tattered emotions and offer him inspiration on how to tackle the monumental challenge on how to fix a broken Dean Winchester.

_‘I didn’t wait for you for over two-thousand years to give up without fighting for us, Master.’_ He swears with dogged determination.

“Yes, Master, as you wish." Crestfallen, Castiel grudgingly agrees with Dean and drops the subject. He steps back, shoulders hunched, head bowed, and says, “Master, if there is nothing else I can do for you tonight, I would like to go back to my bottle now, I am very tired.” His request, barely above a whisper.

“Ah, yeah, sure. Have a good night, I guess.” Dean answers, reluctantly excusing the djinni and about to protest, when Castiel vanishes, leaving the spot his body previously occupied, empty.

“Sonofabitch!” Dean hisses.

“Smooth going there, buck-o.” Gabriel supplies helpfully.

“Fuck you, Gabe.” Dean snaps definitely pissed off with the older djinni, but even more so with himself.

...

"Dean, you alright?" Sam asks cautiously, he knows Dean's temper is on simmer, so he treads carefully searching for the right things to say and not be the one to set him off.

"Peachy, Sam." Dean replies through clenched teeth and turning on his heel, walks angrily from the room.

He goes to the kitchen and rummages through the cabinets, pushing dishes and glasses aside, searching for something that will help him cope with his shitty mood. "Yes!" Sam and Gabriel hear him shout from their spots in the living room.

When he finally comes back out, he’s holding, triumphantly over his head, a bottle of aged whiskey and three tumblers. Dean hands both men a finger's worth of the dark amber liquid before serving himself. With drink in hand, he raises it and tips his head towards them. “To the djinn.” He toasts, and gulps it down in one shot. "Fucking yeah!” he says voice thick and velvet-smooth as the liquid burns a trail down his throat.

Sam and Gabriel exchange a worried look and swallow their drinks.

"All better?" Gabriel asks, nodding once with a hard blink, magically refilling his own glass. He throws back his second shot, smacks his lips noisily and laughs.

"The fuck's so funny, Gabe?" Dean snaps, still on edge if not more angry from the liquor. He’s breathing heavily through his nose, fingers clenching and unclenching, aching to lash out, hit muscle, break bone, unleash his anger in order to forget the look he put on Castiel’s face. The hurt and pain that flashed before his beautiful blue eyes because of Dean’s callousness.

‘ _Hmph, knew I’d fuck up eventually and hurt him, just didn’t think it’d be before we even knew each_ _other for at least twenty-four hours.’_ Dean sighs wearily at the thought.

"I’m laughing at you, Dean." Gabriel points accusingly. "Running around with your head up your ass all this time, that's what's so funny. Seriously, you have the most incredible djinni I have ever known, and believe me, I have known thousands, at your beck and call, worshiping you! You? I mean come on, Dean, I should be asking you _‘what the fuck’,_ because honestly, I know it's fate and all, but I don't see it." Another swallow of whiskey. "You don't deserve him, buddy boy. My brother is way too good for you; he's too fucking good for all of us." He says in a quiet pensive voice, downing another shot of whiskey.

_He's absolutely right,_ Dean agrees, it’s what he's believed all along. He rubs his face roughly with his hand, runs it through his hair, pulling at the short strands at the nape. He blows out an exasperated breath, and walks towards the stairs.

"Where you going? Truth too much to handle?" Gabriel taunts.

"Gabe!" Sam shoots back. "You're not being fair. I mean, look at you. You're a fucking djinni! My brother freed your brother from a bottle, a _bottle_ ,” he yells, on the verge of hysterics. “On a deserted island that you guided him to. How are we supposed to react casually to that bombshell?" Sam's voice rises with each revelation, getting more and more agitated. "You orchestrated this whole fiasco. Why didn't you ever tell me? I've told you everything, man. I just can't believe you've kept so much from me."

"Sorry, kid. I couldn't...I was hoping, and then when-" Tongue-tied and nervous, Gabriel is silenced, again, by his distraught friend.

"Fucking unbelievable! Why, Gabe?” When Gabriel doesn’t answer, Sam blows up. “Is it because you didn't trust me? Is that it? After all we've been through, Gabe, you still don't trust me?"

More silence from the hunched figure on the couch.

"That's it, I'm done. It's over. Get out."

"Sammy, am I missing something here?" It's Dean's turn to be cautious. He walks back to the bizarre scene that’s unfolding in front of him. "Fuck's going on between you two?"

"Nothing, not anymore." Sam bites out giving Gabriel one last hard stare, grabbing his car keys and storming out of the house.

"Gabe-" Dean starts, he walks back into the living room with every intention of getting to the bottom of this unexpected turn of events but stops short at the sight of the empty couch.

"Fucking djinn!"

…

He's beyond exhausted, physically, mentally, emotionally, his head hurts and his heart aches.

Dean climbs into his bed and crawls under the covers too drained to even bother stripping. But as tired as he is, he still finds himself tossing and turning because there's something missing, well more like someone, but he won't call to him, he won't ask Castiel to join him. His skin itches all over missing long strong limbs wrapping around his, holding him down keeping him warm. No, for the djinni's own good, Dean will let him go. After all, even Gabriel could see what he finds so blatantly obvious, that he's not worthy enough, too broken and damaged. Being with Castiel, now, would only prolong the inevitable; the djinni would eventually grow tired of him and leave in order to save himself from Dean, he’s sure of it.

Still holding firm to his vow of releasing Castiel from any responsibilities towards him, Dean finds himself getting out of bed to take the djinni's bottle from the dresser, where he saw Castiel place it earlier. He handles it gently, careful not to jostle it and unintentionally wake the djinni. He gets back into bed and with great care places it instead, by his bedside. A short while later, after gazing longingly at it and oddly comforted by its closer proximity, Dean finally falls asleep, clutching onto his pillow, sinking into its softness, but wishing for smooth planes and firm muscle.

...

"Mmmm" Dean hums contentedly, lying on his side reaching back with his arm to grab firm hips, pressing them flush against his backside, grinding his ass sensuously against them. "Cas..." The djinni's name falls from his lips in a strangled gasp while he pushes his ass upwards in search of friction.

"Dean..." A deep throaty male voice, _Castie_ l, sighs into his ear saying his name low and slow, lengthening the last letter rolling it over his tongue, savoring it.

"Cas, missed you..." The deep yearning in Dean's voice sends shivers down the djinni's spine.

"I’m here, Master, always with you." Castiel whispers and responds by dipping his head in between Dean’s shoulder blades, running the tip of his tongue up his vertebrae, latching his lips around the knob at the neck, mouthing it, scraping his teeth against the bone and biting down until he feels the skin give and Dean moan.

Groaning softly, Dean turns his head to kiss any part of Castiel he can reach. "Cas...want you." He begs, sleep heavy voice low and husky.

Dean’s words are a green light, granting Castiel full permission to claim the yielding body in his arms as his. He pulls his Master tighter against his chest, presses his hardening cock against Dean’s cleft,  and snakes his arm around his waist to undo his fly with nimble fingers. He slides his hand into his Master’s underwear and grunts in satisfaction when Dean’s breath stutters as his fingers finally wrap around his dick.

Dean arches his body further back into Castiel's embrace. He grabs the smooth globe of the djinni's ass, clenching the muscles with greedy fingers, digging his nails and leaving crescents on the pale flesh.

Castiel growls and in one swift movement has Dean pinned down on his back, arms raised over his head, legs spread wide open bracketing the djinni's thighs.

Dean's eyes snap open at the sudden movement and heavy weight pressing against him. Fully awake now, mouth open and panting softly, his shocked mind tries to make sense of the gorgeous man above him, at the blue eyes looking down on him, raw and needy. His eyes drop to Castiel's lips, giving him his own starved look in return and slowly jerks his hips upwards in sync with the djinni's sensuous thrusting.

They stay that way for minutes, hours, a back and forth of non verbal communication, unvoiced declarations of their need for one another, reveling in the delicious friction caused from the mingling of their exposed erections; the intimacy and electric current running between them ratcheting the anticipation into heavenly heights.

"Cas...please…" Dean mouths silently, breaking the spell and spurring the action.

Castiel’s body collapses. His lips crash against Dean's and he releases his Master's hands in favor of his hair, tangling his fingers in the longer strands to keep his head in place.

When their tongues touch, the hungry little whimpering sounds Dean makes have the djinni moaning appreciatively.

Castiel reaches between them and wraps both dicks in his fist, stroking them with slow, languid flicks of his wrist - the rhythm, heat and pressure, perfect.

"Cas..." _I need you so much. Please never leave me._ These things Dean desperately wants to say, but his traitorous mind intervenes. _No! This is wrong. I have to stop this, for him._ "No. Cas, no!" He grunts angrily, pushing and shoving the stunned djinni off. "Just stop, okay." He grumbles, grabbing at the sheets to cover his very disappointed dick. He exhales a loud uneven breath in an effort to regain his composure. He glares at Castiel, expression hard and defiant. "What the hell are you doing here? I don't remember calling you."

"But Master, you did." Castiel grits out, leveling Dean with the kind of stare that implies immanent punishment; the sound of his voice, deep and rich, dangerous, making Dean's dick want back in the game, stat.

It also doesn't help matters that the djinni, crouched next to him, is still completely naked. Dean openly ogles, unable not to at Castiel’s glorious cock; the girth and length, the slight curve towards the head, the tip glistening with pre-cum, provoking and oh so enticing. Looking at how flush and ready his dick is, makes Dean want to throw caution to the wind, drop down face first into his lap and wrap his lips around the glistening head, kissing and licking at the slit, swallowing him whole to gag and drown in his own spit and loving every fucking moment.

_Fuck me!_

"I...I never called you." Dean stammers, trying not to look at the djinni, needing to break eye contact if he hopes to get out of this situation without throwing him down and rubbing one off against his very toned stomach.

"You did, Dean." Castiel insists, saying his Master's name to emphasize his seriousness. "But not with words, with your mind, you thought it. I heard you wish that you wanted to wake with our limbs entwined."

"Damn it Cas, I told you to stop reading my thoughts. I do not want you in my head, so keep the fuck out!"

"My apologies, Master." The djinni says, bowing his head. "But please understand, I have not been ‘reading your thoughts’. It’s because of our link.” He explains. “I cannot tune out your wishes. And you did wish for me Dean, that fact is indisputable." He whispers throatily, trying and succeeding in getting Dean to look at him again. With a smug smile, he continues. "Once your wish is made it is impossible for me to refuse." Then as an afterthought, and in a softer tone, adds. "Nor do I wish to. Serving you is my greatest pleasure." He gets on his hands and knees crawls back into Dean's space and extending his long neck, purrs, "Master."

Dean's breath hitches from the sweet heated breath he inhales through parted lips. He shakes himself desperately trying to clear his head and after a few deep breaths, feels strong enough to speak again.

"Cas, leave, please, I wish it." he says and gently pushes Castiel away, forcing himself not to blink, to hold the djinni’s lust- _or is it love?_ \- filled gaze with his own determined stare.

Castiel's face falls, his shoulders droop, spirit crumbling at Dean's cruelty.

Dean's insides twist in anguish knowing that he's the reason for his djinni's misery. But, he has no choice, he will spare Castiel the lackluster future that will assuredly come to be if the djinni were to stay with him. Even more dire, however, is the high probability of a dangerous future for the djinni if he is discovered by United States government's scientists. _Not gonna happen, not on my watch!_ Dean swears to himself.

"But Dean, I know you don't mean what you say, I can feel it." Castiel pleads, voice breaking from distress, eyes glassy with the tears of pent up frustration and blooming heartache.

Dean regards him for a moment, steeling his expression into one of indifference, holding firm to his resolve. "Go, now." He croaks, voice cracking over the hateful words, his throat too dry to swallow.

He closes his eyes and turns his back to the future he's throwing away. “Good-bye, Cas.” When he opens them again, he’s alone.

…

It's the morning after. Quite possibly the worst morning after he can recall having in the last ten years.

Shortly after dismissing Castiel, he threw himself wholeheartedly into his grief; body bent double in a fetal position, wracked with muffled sobs, cursing his stupid insecurities. But regardless of his wretchedness, he held fast to his decision to free the djinni. Justifying it as the right course, the best choice for the man he refuses to acknowledge as the love of his life and the best thing to have ever happened to him.

As soon as he’s up the following morning, Dean sets about putting his plan to keep Castiel’s identity a mystery, into motion.

"Gabe, come on man, please don't fucking make me beg." Dean, well… begs.

"Not really the tone you want to use if you want me a favor from me." The older djinni tuts appearing suddenly before him.

"Yeah, whatever you say, just help me, okay." Dean replies dismissively, he's in a rotten mood and wants to do what he's set out to do, which is to ensure Castiel's safety and freedom, and get it over with as quickly and smoothly as possible.

"And why would I want to do anything for you? From where I stand, helping you has brought me nothing but headaches." He accuses, his golden irises glowing brighter with anger.

"What the hell is that supposed to even mean?" Dean gripes. "You know what, I don't even care." He says disgusted. _I can only handle one fucking problem at a time._ "Let me sugar-coated it for you." He bites out walking closer in an attempt to intimidate the shorter man. "Right now all I care about is making sure that NASA doesn't find out about Cas. You know what'll happen if they do?” Dean asks, and continues in order to enlighten the djinni. “After they capture him, first thing they'll do is try to figure out how he works. Then they'll try to turn him into a weapon. And, once he's served their purposes, they'll dissect his magical ass. ‘Cause in case you haven’t noticed, not everybody there is like Bobby."

“Hmph!” Gabriel snorts. “No one’s gonna get Cassie. He’s a djinni! No mortal can catch him.”

“Do you really want to take that risk, man?” Dean challenges. “Didn’t he already spend the past two-thousand years imprisoned?” Raising his eyebrows, he pauses for effect. “Thought so. Seems to me like there’s always a way to catch a djinni if someone really wants to.”

Regardless of the fact that his brother was imprisoned by Hajji, at the request of another djinni, Gabriel still gasps at the horrible possibility Dean just laid out for him. "And why haven't you asked Castiel to do the dirty work for you?" He sighs voice muted, his former anger dissipating with the possibility that Castiel could get hurt or even, Hajji forbid, killed. "It's his magical ass on the line here, and I've already paid my debt to him."

"You mean you haven't spoken to him?" Dean asks concerned, he had assumed that after his abhorrent behavior, Castiel would have run to his brother. _It's what I would have done._

"I've tried, knuckle-head, but he's not taking my calls. Why don't you just summon him, he is your djinni after-all and obligated to obey your commands, you lucky ducky you." He leers.

"Didn't wanna bother him with this." Dean replies sheepishly, staring hard at his feet, the floor, to the side, anywhere but at Gabriel, not wanting to admit that he had already tried to call the djinni back, repeatedly, without success.

"Yeah, like I believe that. Try again. And this time, no bullshitting Dean-o, because if I suspect a lie, I'll just have to go into that pretty little head of yours and tear the truth out, in my own special way." He threatens. "Now, from the beginning, what did you do to him?"

"Whatever I did or didn't do is none of your god-damn business!" Dean protests fed up with being at the mercy of this mentally unstable djinni.

"Sorry big boy, but I beg to differ."

**_BLINK_ **

"Arghhhh!" Dean screams shocked and terrified from the guillotine that's inching lower with each pass of its curved blade.

He's flat on his back, arms and legs splayed obscenely apart, strapped tightly to a table in the middle of his living room.

"The fuck, Gabriel? Get me off this fucking thing or I swear I'll find where you keep your bottle and shove you in feet first, you dick!" He promises.

"Heh, yeah, you and what army of djinn?" Gabriel scoffs quirking an eyebrow clearly amused at Dean's bravado. "Remember, the only reason you even found Cassie's bottle is because I practically dropped you on top of it, you dope. It’s impossible, like never-gonna-happen, to find the bottle of a djinni that’s not yours. But nice try, you got guts kid, I like that about you. Always have."

Dean twists his head to glare at the djinni, he wants to flip him off too, but doesn't want to risk losing a finger.

_Especially not my fuck finger!_

He stares up at the hypnotic sway of the blade, back and forth and back and forth every swing bringing it closer to his torso, the hissing whisper as it passes over him growing louder and louder.

"Fuck! Okay, okay! I'll tell you, now stop this thing!" He relents.

"Not so fast, talk first, and then maybe I'll stop my toy from turning you into a magic trick gone really, really, bad."

"You're a fucking asshole, Gabe!"

"What, speak up?" Gabriel yells back, cupping his ear and leaning his head closer to Dean's bared clenched teeth.

"I told him to go!"

"See that wasn't so hard, was-"

"Gabriel, release Dean immediately!" Sam roars storming into the room.

Gabriel jumps at the sudden intrusion. He looks down at Dean and shrugs. Turns to face Sam, and with a flirtatious wink, says, “Yes, Master."

...

"Gabe when I gave you permission to answer Dean's summons, it was to help him, not try to kill him!"

"But Master!" Gabriel whines, pouting and stomping his foot in mock tantrum. "He started it, promise, cross my heart." He swears crossing himself with his finger while sticking his tongue out at Dean.

"Fuck you Gabriel you douche!" Dean spits out bent double, hands on his knees trying to catch his breath.

Sam walks past his djinni without sparing him a glance and reaches out to place a supportive hand on his brother. "You okay?"

"I am now, ah, thanks." With Sam's help, Dean straightens up and looks between his brother and Gabriel. "You got something you wanna tell me, Sammy?"

Sam lowers his head and running his hand through his hair lets out a heavy breath. He looks up and offers Gabriel a small smile holding his gaze for a drawn out moment before speaking. "Yeah, Dean, I suppose I do." He admits. "As you might have already guessed, Gabe is my djinni, or if you prefer, I am his Master."

"I prefer!" Gabriel volunteers holding his hand up and bouncing on his toes.

"Gabe, please behave." Sam tells him quietly, his voice resigned his posture sloped.

"Sorry Sam." The djinni replies in a more subdued tone.

"But how? When? I mean...how long have you two been together, like Master and djinni I mean." Dean stammers, thunderstruck by his brothers’ news. "Sam, why didn't you ever say anything? And then, when I told you about Cas you acted like you didn't believe me and-"

Sam grabs Dean by the shoulders holding him still, his grip steady and firm. "Dean, breathe." He orders, effectively ending his brother's rant. "Look at me, calm down and listen for a minute."

Dean shrugs him off and backs away grunting out _oomph_ when he lands on the couch that has magically appeared behind him. "Do you mind?" He snaps at Gabriel who shrugs in return.

"Sammy wants you to stay put and listen, so a djinni's gotta do what a djinni's gotta do to keep his Master happy, Dean-o."

"He's right Dean, he knows what I want, my every wish.” Sam moves to join him on the couch chuckling softly at the ridiculousness of what he just admitted. "Guess I don't need to tell you, right?"

"How long?" Dean wants to know, his face a tense mask of wariness.

Sam sits back and studies his brother feeling wounded and a little afraid. He coughs into his fist, stalling, searching for the right words that will explain what he only recently found out. "A day, and seven years."

"How about explaining in a way a five year old would understand." Dean grits out.

"You know as much as I do, man." Sam looks over to Gabriel for strength, reassurance, maybe both, before starting. "We met in college, became best friends, and joined the Navy as officers, where he became a SEAL.” He recollects. “Thank God for that. Although,” Sam pauses to reflect on the connections that weren’t there a day ago. “I guess it should be thank Hajji that Gabe aced his training.” He chuckles softly. “Dean, as soon as you went missing, Gabe was the first to volunteer for the rescue mission. And I couldn’t have been more relieved. I knew, just knew, that he would find you.”

Sam falls silent, head lowered, face covered by his long bangs. When he lifts his head, his eyes shine and his cheeks are ruddy from emotion, his smile soft and sincere. “After he got you back, he applied to NASA with me, and as luck would have it, was recruited at the same time as I was." Sam pauses and at the djinni's nod continues. "You pretty much know the rest of the story from that point. But, yesterday though, yeah all that was news to me too, for the most part."

"For the most part? Care to elaborate?"

"Dean," Sam huffs, exhaling loudly through his nose. "I think a part of me has always known that Gabriel was, ah, mine?" He scrunches his face up at the confession, eying his brother warily for an explosive reaction.

Dean sinks into himself. He drops his head in his hands, shoulders shaking from, wait, is he laughing? "God what a cluster fuck! Dude, how the fuck is this our life?" He laughs out loud turning in his seat to look at the djinni standing guard behind them. "So you and Sam? Like me and Cas?"

"You catch on quick, Dean." Gabriel confirms tapping his nose.

"So wait a sec, that would mean you have his bottle." It's not a question, already knowing how this works, Dean is stating a fact.

"I do. Gabe gave me his bottle as a gift right after we met. I mean, at the time I didn't know it was a djinni's bottle, why would I? I just thought it was really beautiful and I don't know, being near it always made me feel happy." Sam can’t help the blush that creeps up high on his cheeks at the realization of the djinni's effect on him.

"Well that explains the THEN, how about filling me in on the NOW."

"The now?" Both Sam and Gabriel parrot in reply.

"You know what, forget it. I'm too beat right now to even begin to figure out how we got here." Dean sighs rubbing his face roughly with both hands. "As a matter of fact, right now all I care about is making sure Cas is kept safe. We gotta find a way to make this mess go away, and get him back home." He directs this last at Gabriel.

"What do mean you want to send him home?" Gabriel asks incredulously. "He's your djinni, if he's with you, he is home." He spins in place and raises his arms. "Dear Hajji how could you condemn Cassie to the densest human on earth?" He implores in an angry voice.

Dean pushes off the couch and glares at the djinni. He steps around the couch ready to confront him with his fists but is held back by his brother's firm grip on his arm.

"Take it easy Dean, Gabe didn't mean it like that, right Gabe? Gabriel." Sam warns when the djinni doesn't reply and only continues staring at the ceiling. 

"Yes, Master." Gabriel finally answers dropping his arms in defeat. He walks up to Dean and even though he's the smaller man the menace in his approach, makes Dean force himself not to take a step back. "But I meant every word I said." He sneers through clenched teeth.

"Whoa, okay Gabe, that's enough. Back down." Sam orders stepping in between the two men and gently pushing the djinni away from his seething brother. "Dean, I'm sure Gabe can help us come up with a plan that'll solve this whole problem. Right, Gabe?" He says all of this never taking his eyes off the djinni fuming in his grip.

"Yes, Master." Gabriel bites out, meeting Sam's gaze.

"It's Sam, okay. We talked about this. I don't want anything to change between us." Sam whispers low so that only Gabriel can hear him.

"Of course, Sam." This time Gabriel smiles in return, lacing his fingers with the ones Sam has around his arm. "Sorry, when it comes to my family, I tend to get a little over protective."

"Hmph." Sam huffs. "Preaching to the choir." He agrees.

"Ah, do you two mind? We're here about Cas, or do I need to give you some alone time?" Dean says in a snarky manner.

Sam turns to look at his brother giving him his patented bitch face as reply to the snide comment. "Dean, why don't we start by asking Cas to join us?"

Dean lowers his eyes and studies his shoes. "Nah, we can figure this out without him."

"What the hell are you talking about? This is totally about him and his fate, he should be here. How can you be so blasé?" Sam argues, not knowing what Dean's already confessed to Gabriel.

"He's not answering my calls, okay." Dean snaps and throws himself back onto the couch. "What the hell did you do?" Sam accuses taking a seat next to him. " 'Cause from what I saw last time he seemed to be at your beck and call and very into being your djinni." He emphasizes, looking over to Gabriel for acknowledgement.

"I kinda told him that I didn't want him as my djinni and released him." Dean confesses and shrugs impatiently at Sam's look of shock. "Look, he's better off not being here, man. I mean seriously, what can he get out of being around me all the time? So, I told him to go before he smartened up and took off on his own. Can't say that I would blame him. It was only a matter if time." He states his protest casually, voice getting lower the longer he speaks, no longer sure who he's trying to convince, Sam and Gabriel, or himself. "He woulda left on his own sooner or later anyway." He concludes.

"Dean you're my brother and I love you, but you can be so clueless sometimes." Sam responds gently.

"He does have a point, Sam. He is totally undeserving of my brother, Cas is clearly better off." Gabriel smirks cheekily.

"Not cool Gabe. Remember, we're here to help Cas and Dean. Got it?"

"Yeah, yeah, alright." The djinni agrees unwillingly. "But we can at least agree that Dean is a clueless sack of-"

"Dean,” Sam cuts in before the djinni can finish his scathing insult. “Cas is probably hurt and that's why he's not answering, but I'm sure Gabe can get through to him, right Gabe?"

Gabriel sighs heavily giving his Master an uncomfortable look. "Ah...that would be a no, Sam."

"Come again? No?" It’s Dean that speaks first. "Aren’t you supposed to be older and more powerful? Can't you make him appear?" His deep voice getting higher with the panic that's settling in.

"Like I said. No. As is no can do. Not gonna happen. Not possible." Gabriel snipes.

"Gabe, isn't there anything you can do?" Sam steps in preempting his brother's sure to come tirade. “So now you’re not more powerful?”

Gabriel drops his eyes and coughs into his fist. “Seems like I may have miscalculated what the effects of a prolonged confinement in a bottle would do to a young djinni.” He looks up. “No, I am no longer, ah, more powerful than Cassie. As I see it, the only ones powerful enough to force Castiel to appear, against his will, are your dumb-as-a-stump brother and my dad. Probably Michael too, in a pinch, but that's neither here nor there at the moment, since he’s MI.A." He adds as an afterthought.

"You know, for someone who claims to have Cas' best interest at heart, you sure are a useless dick." Dean remarks.

"We'll, since you put it so nicely, how could I possibly refuse?" Gabriel replies voice dripping with sarcasm.

"Gabe, come on, think. There's gotta be something you can do." Sam pleads.

"Sam, believe me when I tell you there's nothing I can do." Gabriel answers with a note if finality. “He’s too strong and getting more so the longer he hangs with his Master. Kid’s jacked!”

"No, I can’t accept that. Come on, you can use your mojo to find him at least." Sam tries.

"Listen, truth is I've already tried to fly to him after what Captain dumb-ass said. But he’s cloaked himself. I couldn’t find him." He admits defensively, elaborating on what he already told Dean. "He's ignoring me too and if he doesn't want to be found, then he won't be. And before you ask, there's no magic trick up my sleeve that'll tell us where he is. My angel-face baby bro may be young, but his power packs a mean punch." He adds clearly impressed.

He looks between the brothers and at their look of utter disbelief, adds, "I mean, why do you think I sent Dean to get Cas off that island instead of doing it myself? It was because of the prophesy, okay. Only Dean can free or rule him. But now, heh, now that you've released him, relinquished your hold over him, well then buck-o, I'd say you’re up a creek along with the rest of us."

He's suddenly sitting on Dean's other side, amber eyes locking onto green, and says in a slow and stern voice, "Dean, you were The Chosen One, handpicked by destiny to aid Castiel in settling the upheaval that has been plaguing my world for centuries and you threw it all away, you sad sorry dumb-ass. Now do you see why I called him a dufus, Sam?" Gabriel points out to his Master.

"Fuck you and your fairy tale. I'm gonna take care of this shit myself." Dean pulls out of his brother's hold and tries to get up.

"Wait." Sam tells Dean strengthening his grip on his brother to keep him seated. "Gabe, if none of us can get to Cas, then ask your dad, or even Michael." He suggests as an alternative.

Gabriel looks down studying his hands at Sam's words.

After a beat of silence from the djinni, Dean prods. "Now what's wrong?"

"The idea is a good one." He acknowledges nodding to his Master. "But...ah, about the-powers-that-be that you're asking me to call, ah, sorry, but I'm gonna have to give you a no-go on that request too."

"Sonofabitch! Forget it Sammy, your djinni doesn't want to help me. I'm done." Dean curses in frustration.

"Oh for crying out loud, princess, don't blame me if you can't get all of your wishes granted anymore. The fault lies with you on that one." Gabriel accuses and feels his stomach drop when he looks over to Sam and sees a sad frown marring his Master's handsome features. "It's not that I don't want to help you, Dean, it's that I can't." He says in a gentler tone. " _One_ , Dad has been absent for like, ever. And _two_ , Michael? Well, apart from also not being in the picture anymore, trust me when I tell you that you do not want his involvement. Big bro tends to be a little overbearing. Everything's black or white with him, no grey areas. Hmph, he's definitely daddy's perfect little soldier following all of his rules down to the letter. Not big on the understanding or mercy, that one." Gabriel recalls, finishing the description of his older brother with a faraway look and bitter tone to his voice. He shakes himself out of his memories and coughs into his hand embarrassed for having exposed his family in such a negative light to the two humans. "So you see, the only realistic choice we have to get Castiel back is to have The Chosen One reclaim him."

"Huh? You were serious about all of that Chosen One crap?" Dean asks skeptically.

"Seriously? Am I hearing you right? Please tell me you're pulling my chain. Tell me you aren't as dull as you make yourself out to be."

"…?..."

"Fine, I'll spell it out for you." He huffs aloud trying, for the sake of his Master, to be patient with his thickheaded brother. "You, my dear Captain, are _The Chosen One,_ you always have been, Dad made it so. Only you can save Cassie. And only Cassie can save our world." Gabriel explains this revelation as if it were common knowledge.

"...!..."

"Yeah, just the reaction I expected." He sighs rolling his eyes and shaking his head. He looks up abruptly, exhaling loudly and snaps his fingers. "The bottle! Do you still have his bottle?" The djinni says sharply grabbing Dean by the shoulders, his grip just a shade from painful.

Dean gapes, taken aback by the sudden change in direction and thinks back on where he knows he placed Castiel's bottle the previous night. "Yeah, it's upstairs on my night stand, why?" He asks before the obvious answer dawns on him.

_Cas can't go anywhere without his bottle. He's tied to it and I still have it. He's still here!_

Dean pulls free from Gabriel and storms up to his bedroom.

The excitement and nervous joy buzzing through his body is short lived, however, once he enters his room and finds Gabriel standing next to his bare nightstand.

The bottle is gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapter title is from a GREAT Depeche Mode song. Give it a listen. It screams Destiel!


	6. Take Me I'm Yours...because Dreams are made of this

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Whoa, you're not seriously gonna play the role of the jilted and rejected lover are you Dean? Why that would make you a hypocritical dick." Gabriel spits back bored with Dean's self-martyrdom but even more aggravated with his self-righteousness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi lovelies! I'm posting a day earlier because I won't get a chance tomorrow. I won't be able to post nxt Tuesday either. Sorry about that. Nxt installment, fingers crossed, will be nxt Wed or Thurs. Hope you likey!

The arid heat and cloying fragrances from the exotic spices that permeate the air aren’t enough to distract Castiel from his memories of the cool ocean breeze caressing his heated flesh and the intoxicating scents of leather and musk that still cling to him from his too brief time with Dean.

_Dean…_

_Cas...?_

"Dean." Castiel whispers, desperately trying to silence the echoes of his Master’s voice that relentlessly haunt him.

"Um, Earth to Castiel." The blonde djinni sitting next to him says loudly. He sits cross-legged, mirroring Castiel posture, on a pile of luxuriously embroidered cushions strewn generously all throughout his large tent. "Mind setting your attention back on topic?" He asks trying to get Castiel's focus back on their heated discussion.

"My apologies, Balthazar, you were saying?" The dark haired brooding djinni replies struggling to recall why they were arguing.

"My dear Cassie, I wasn't saying anything. You were the one that was about to explain why you’re here with me, your loving better looking brother, instead of with that delicious, albeit painfully thick, Master of yours."

"I thought I had already made myself clear, brother, he released me of our bond." Castiel repeats, the firm steady tone of his voice belying his riotous emotions.

"Yes, I heard you the first time. But what I don't get, darling, and what you were about to explain is why." Balthazar reminds him.

"Oh." Castiel looks away, thinking back on the words that forced him to leave, the words he most dreaded hearing from the man he loves most.

"The Why, is of no consequence. The only thing that still matters is that I fulfill our father’s prophesy." He states firmly.

Balthazar's gaping wide-eyed stare is all the reply he gets. "Do you know something I don't? Because last I heard daddy's prophesies can only be fulfilled if they are followed through to the letter, no substitutions or alternations accepted." He leans closer to his brother wanting to offer comfort to the downhearted djinni. "Cassie, I hate to say it, but you need your Master in order for this to work. Argh, saying that left an absolutely foul taste in my mouth." He declares smacking his lips with disgust. "Mmmm, that's much better." He announces sipping from the silver chalice that he blinked into his hand. "Please, you must try this champagne. It's from Jay-Z's personal stock."

"Thank you, but I'm not in the mood." Castiel answers and blinks his chalice away steering the conversation back with what he says next. "I have every intention of following through with father's plan to unite the sects and end Crowley’s reign, with or..." He inhales deeply knowing that what he's about to say will cut him deeply. "...without Dean."

"Hm, Dean is it? Yes, Gabriel mentioned you and your Master are on a first name basis." Balthazar comments with disdain.

"When did you speak with Gabriel?" Castiel asks suspiciously.

"Why as soon as Captain dumb-dumb found you, sweetheart." He reaches over and grabs Castiel's hand clutching it tightly between his own. "Cassie," Balthazar's flippant tone becoming serious and his grasp tighter. "When I heard you'd been freed, why...I don't think I've ever been happier."

"Balthazar, I'm sorry I didn't come myself. I..." Castiel starts, unsure how to finish his sentence. He feels conflicted, guilty that his first instinct wasn't to rush to his favorite brother's side as soon as he was freed.

How can he explain that from the very first moment he sensed Dean, that there wasn't a power on Earth that could have torn him from his Master's side; that those few precious days basking in his company were the happiest of Castiel's over-long existence. Not even the great Hajji, and certainly not Michael, could over power the strength of their bond. No, in the end, it was Dean that severed their tie, breaking their bond and Castiel’s heart, with his final wish.

"Pffst, never mind then. I know all too well, that in the beginning, a djinni and their new Master can't bear to be apart." Balthazar says in an attempt to liven the suddenly gloomy mood. But when he sees his words have the opposite effect on his brother, he reaches out, takes him by the shoulders and blinks with a hard nod. When he releases Castiel, they’re chest high in a steaming pool surrounded by beautiful men and women, alternately filling it with milk from golden basins and dark red rose petals from woven baskets brimming with the flowers. "Have a soak. It always cheers me up." He offers.

Balthazar counts Castiel's low chuckle and reclined posture as a win.

"Thank you brother, I must admit this does feel nice." Castiel concedes. "However, it seems you have missed something." He blinks and their chamber suddenly fills with soft music played by an assortment of mythical beasts.

"Very nice, Cassie, Yes, very nice indeed, but if I may." At Balthazar's blink, the lyres from the Centaurs and flutes from the Pans are joined by the rhythmic harmonies and hypnotic notes from a group of stunning Sirens weaving and undulating sensuously in the pool with them.

Balthazar counts Castiel's throaty laugh and livelier spirit, as a home run.

...

"Okay, so he's not here. Not a problem. Gabe, where do you think Cas could've gone?" Sam turns to ask his djinni.

"Anywhere and everywhere.” Gabriel shrugs. “He's a very powerful djinni. Name a place and he could be there." He offers as a guess.

"Yeah, yeah, you mentioned that already. But he's been imprisoned for over two thousand years, there has to be one place or one person he would go to first." Sam asks, trying to coax an answer from the djinni that can help them.

"Sam, Dean…” He says turning to the brothers. “Listen carefully. There is only one place in this ever-lovin-world, heck universe that a djinni would want to be once he’s finally freed." At their rapt curiosity and undivided attention, he continues. "No guesses? Okay, okay. It's with their Master, d'huh!" He takes in Dean's reaction, not feeling the least bit sorry when he sees the human lower his head in shame and chew at his lower lip, worrying it with his teeth aggressively enough to draw blood. "Of course," He begins again, at Sam's prodding. "...now that _that_ offer’s off the table, I'm gonna have to bet that he's flown straight into Balthazar's eager and loving arms."

Dean's head snaps up and his jaw clenches shut with an audible snap from Gabriel’s statement. "Who the fuck's Balthazar?" He spits out angrily.

"Whoa, you're not seriously gonna play the role of the jilted and rejected lover are you Dean? Why that would make you a hypocritical dick." Gabriel spits back bored with Dean's self-martyrdom but even more aggravated with his self-righteousness.

"Come on guys." Sam moans turning to face the djinni. "Gabe, enough with the jabs, okay. Dean fucked up and from where I stand he's not the only one."

Gabriel takes a step back at the implied accusation.

Sam turns back to face his brother. "And Dean, bro, if you want a solution to this 'cluster fuck' as you so aptly put it, then you have to start by admitting that what you did to Castiel was fucked up too." he eyes Dean warily trying to gauge how much further he can push his brother before he pushes back. "Dude, the way Cas looked at you, man, it's like you’re his moon and his stars. Too much?" He frowns when both Dean and Gabriel make mock gagging and chocking sounds. "Okay, maybe that was too sappy, but you know I'm telling the truth."

Dean quiets and stills, closes his eyes and fists his hands. _He’s right, fucking Sam and his womanly_ _intuition._

"Sam, Gabe, you're right, okay." He concedes and opens his eyes. Exhaling in relief and feeling lighter, says, "I fucked up. Now what do I have to do to get my djinni back?"

…

It felt right to admit it. Actually, it felt fucking great. But he had no choice and couldn’t deny the truth any longer; that he and Castiel belong to each other. That even though they exist in separate bodies, they share one soul, two halves of a whole.

He's been out of sorts, more so than usual, ever since Castiel left his side. Feeling like a stranger in his own skin with an itch he can’t seem to scratch and an ache that no amount of painkillers or alcohol could ease. An emptiness that no amount of anonymous sex _(God I can't even imagine touching, let_ _alone fucking some random stranger)_ he notes, could fill. No, from the moment Dean met Castiel, he was doomed. From the moment Castiel laid a hand on Dean, the djinni was lost. Dean knows this now. He's always known it, truth be told, but now he believes it. And he's loathe to let the situation go on any further without finding the djinni and begging him to return.

As for his feelings of inadequacy? They're still there. It will take a long time and lots of 'encouragement', both by word and by action from Castiel, to convince Dean of what the djinni already believes, that he is deservedly The Chosen One and the only one, for him.

A long drawn out high-pitched whistle from Gabriel draws Dean out of his reverie. "Wow, I have to say, I'm impressed. I was beginning to think that you'd never get your head out if your ass, Cap."

Dean's glower quickly turns thoughtful. "Guess I had that coming, but how about canning it with the I-told-you-so's until after we figure out a way to get Cas back." He suggests as pleasantly as he's capable given that the coiled tension in his body is winning the war against his fleeting hope.

"He’s right, Gabe." Sam laughs softly. "I promise that when this is all over we'll team up and threaten to tell Cas as many embarrassing stories about Dean that we can remember. But for now, concentrate. What does he have to do to get Cas back?"

"Easy. Just wish for him to be your djinni again." Gabriel instructs.

"What? That's it?" Dean can't believe it. He never imagined he could make a wish, a real heartfelt wish, and have it come true. Up until this point in his life, he's had to struggle more than anybody else to get where and what he wants. "Why didn't you say so before? Wait, never mind. Here goes nothing." He closes his eyes tightly and after a brief moment, opens only one, gazing around expectantly. "What gives? Where is he Gabriel?"

"Hm?" The djinni ponders grabbing his chin with his fingers and stroking it meditatively. "I'm not exactly sure. It may be that you have to say it while holding his bottle?" He suggests uncertainly.

"Come on, man. You said it was easy. Now you're not sure?" Dean's trying desperately to hold onto the nervous excitement that's helping him to stay steady and focused on his target, his reunion with Castiel.

"What can I say? I mean, sure, it's supposed to be a cinch. But then again, no one, and I mean _nobody_ , has ever rejected their djinni." He says pointedly to Dean. "So, since this situation is unique, and Castiel is unique, we're gonna have to come up with an equally unique solution. Be back in a flash." A wink to Sam, a snap of fingers and Gabriel vanishes.

...

"Yes, you’re terribly clever. Why I haven't laughed at a joke like that since Uriel. And you know how well things turned out for that tool." Balthazar quips. "But seriously, why did you have to turn all of the Sirens into Deans? Granted the human is gorgeous, but still, not really my cup of tea, Cassie. You could have at least made one in the image of that scrumptious Scarlett Johansson, or even that gorgeous Casanova." He pouts.

"Since when do you care for Casanova? And who on Earth is Scarlett Johnson?" Castiel asks head tilted to one side in honest confusion.

"It's Johansson...oh, never mind. Let's get back to business, dear brother. Please do fill me in on how you plan to topple the diabolical duo of Meg and Crowley and find Dad? Hm? Ah, Gabriel, perfect timing." Balthazar exclaims, addressing the older djinni that's just appeared in front of them.

"Balthazar." Gabriel nods in greeting. "Castiel!" He says cheerily walking over to where his younger brother lays reclined on an abundance of overstuffed cushions and pushes away the myriad Dean look-a-likes that are surrounding him while they fan and feed him. "Bit of over-kill, don't you think?" He says plopping down next to him and gratefully accepting a flask of wine from a Sam look-a-like that magically morphed from one of Castiel's Deans.

"That's better. So, little bro, tell me, how is the search for dear old Dad going?"

"Hello Gabriel. I was just about to inform Balthazar of my altered plans." He blinks and their surroundings change yet again. They’re now looking at each other from across an ornate marble table seated on even more ornate chairs in a large tent. "I’m going to temporarily postpone the search for our father. My main focus right now is to find a way to destroy Crowley's regime."

Balthazar and Gabriel stare at each other, nod in silent agreement, and at Balthazar's after-you gesture, Gabriel speaks. "You do realize that there are only two beings powerful enough to bring that devil down, and you, my dear deluded brother, are not one of them. So as I see it-"

"As we see it." Balthazar supplies.

"I stand corrected. As we see it, you only have a few choices at your disposal. And chief amongst them is that you get down on your knees and beg our, generous-to-a-fault brother, Michael, to man up and do his job, that's if you're even able to find him. Or, you keep looking for Dad and hope that he cares enough to put things right himself." At Castiel's steely glare, Gabriel adds, "Oooooor... you get back together with Dean and hope that your combined, ah, how shall I put it?" He stops and looks over to Balthazar for guidance.

"Energies?" The blonde djinni mouths shrugging.

"Good enough. Hope that your combined ''energies” grant you enough power to pull this off."

Try as he might, Castiel's face still crumbles at the mention of his Master's name and at the impossibility of Gabriel's suggestions.

He stands from the table and paces the length of the room trying to regain his composure. After a long tense moment he turns back to face his brothers. "Unfortunately, all of your options are no longer viable, especially...the last one. Dean is no longer my Master, he wished to end our relationship, and I made it final." The words tear at his throat leaving it dry. He retakes his seat no longer trusting his legs to keep him upright; having acknowledged the truth of what he just confessed, left him gutted.

Gabriel blinks himself in front of his brother's defeated form and quickly wraps him in his arms. "How can you say that, Cassie? You of all djinn knows very well that in our line of work, nothing is ever final." He pulls back holding his brother at arm’s length taking his face in both hands, cradling it tenderly, looking steadily into his glassy blue eyes and says, "Ours is an unchanging fate, brother. What must be shall be, an unbroken chain until Hajji snaps it." He tenderly brushes Castiel's hair from his forehead and smirks. "Which brings me to the real reason for my visit; tell me, where is that precious bottle of yours?"

…

Just as Castiel is pacing back and forth trying to rein in his heartache, Dean is doing the same half way across the world, lamenting his stupidity and cursing his good intentions.

"The fuck Gabriel disappear to?" He snaps at Sam.

"Said he'd be right back, Dean, and it's only been a few minutes. Will you please come and sit down, you're making me anxious. He probably went to find that Balthazar guy, the one he said Cas would go to first, given the chance. I'm su-" Sam's mouth snaps shut at his brother's unmistakable growl. "Dude, calm the fuck down. Seriously, you're gonna give yourself a heart attack." He points out, unable to repress an amused smile from forming on his lips at his brother's unwarranted jealousy.

"Yeah, easy for you to say." He finally stops his pacing and instead moves to grab his used tumbler to refill it with the last remaining dregs of the near empty whiskey bottle.

"Better?" Sam asks wryly.

"I'll let you know after I drain the whole damn thing." Dean hiccups. He lets himself fall next to his brother and sits quietly for a beat before speaking. "Fuck Sam, the things I said. I was so cold to him. It was all an act, the indifference and distance. But man, let me tell you, they should give me a friggin Oscar for my performance." He brags.

"Wow, guess that does earn you a drink or five." Sam admits squeezing his brother's shoulder briefly before getting up and walking to his room. He’s back a moment later sitting with Dean and refills two glasses with his secret stash of Jack.

"Now that’s better." Dean grins widely upending his shot, eager for the warm comforting numbness that's soon to follow. After three more hits, he’s relaxed enough to lay his head back and rest it propped on his brother's outstretched arm. He feels thick and fuzzy, but at ease and content enough to let his brother ramble on, uselessly, about how everything is going to turn out okay, and almost drunk enough to believe it.

...

"You must have misunderstood, Gabriel, Dean was very adamant about my dismissal." Castiel insists. "He said, and I quote, 'Cas, leave please, I wish it.’ There is no way I could have misinterpreted that."

"Listen, you can protest all you want but the truth of the matter is that your jackass of a Master wants you back. Better yet, that idiot never wanted you gone. He's a sorry sack, Cas. I honestly don't see how he could be The One. Still, I guess I can't be too tough on him, since he apparently does have enough brains to realize that he's not good enough for you. Gotta give him that." He laughs loudly at Dean's expense. "Not too many brains but enough to know what a worthle…, ah, Cassie, mind untying me?" Gabriel asks, deadly serious and with all of his previous good humor evaporated now that he finds himself hanging upside down over a pit if very pissed off cobras.

"Gabriel don't toy with me I haven't forgotten your fondness for tricks." Castiel's deep voice growls as he walks around the perimeter of the reptile's nest.

"I’m not lying, I swear!" Gabriel screams twisting and turning trying in vain to free himself from his brother's magical ties. "What the fuck, Castiel? How the fuck am I not able to break your spell?" He asks bewildered at his brother's mysteriously heightened powers. "Bal, are you helping him?"

"What me? No! I’m completely staying out of this. Consider me neutral." Balthazar asserts.

"Gabriel, I'm serious if y-" Castiel starts but is quickly cut off by his brother's protests and entreaties.

"Cassie, you know I'm not lying! Search your feelings. You know it's true!" He begs.

Gabriel's right.

How else could he explain the electric current buzzing through his veins that’s been getting steadily stronger ever since he left Dean's side. He knows now what his body's been trying to tell him all along, that his Master wants him back. Gabriel’s news confirms it. He stills, reaches out with his powers to locate Dean and is instantly slammed with a wave of need and want. But not his own, Dean's. He staggers at the impact, the force of it almost dropping him to his knees.

"Balthazar, it's true, I can feel Dean wanting me, needing me, calling to me."

_Dean!_ Castiel dares to hope.

"Told you so! Now for Hajji's sake, release me!" Gabriel cries.

"Very well brother, but before I do, know that I will not tolerate you insulting my Master anymore. And furthermore when we are reunited you will formally apologize and swear to be respectful and-"

"Alright, alright I swear, I swear. Now let me down! Or, so help me, disrespecting him will be the le...ow!" The older djinn grunts when he hits the ground head first. "That hurt you prick!"

"Thank Hajji I removed the cobras first." Castiel says low and menacingly.

"You know, Cassie, for a pretty-boy djinni you can be one scary son-of-a-bitch." Gabriel observes rubbing his sore head.

"You flatter me Gabriel. Now..." With bottle magically in hand, he turns to Balthazar. "I thank you for your hospitality, brother." And turning back to Gabriel, orders, "Follow me."

...

"Cas!" Sam says excitedly. "Good to see you, man."

Dean looks up at Sam's voice, breath catching in his throat at the sight of his djinni. "Cas..." _Finally._

"Dean." Castiel says, voice gravel rough, eyes immediately locking onto his Master.

_God how I missed that voice!_ Dean almost whimpers at the sound of it. "Ya-you are here. I really...um, really seriously had problems." He slurs. "Ah, fuck, s-sorry, might be little bit drunk." He stands holding out his hands in apology. He lurches towards Castiel and stumbles into his arms. "Oopsie, tripped." Dean rests his hands on the djinni's shoulders kneading and pressing his fingers into the firm muscles, gazing glassy-eyed into the djinni's vivid blue stare. "Ya sure have p-pretty eyes, Cas." And leans in to press a whiskey scented but nonetheless sweet kiss on the djinni's lips.

"Master, you're drunk." Castiel whispers against Dean's cheek, his voice a low sexy rumble with a stern edge to it.

He holds Dean tightly, keeping him upright, and wraps his arms around his waist possessively; his own head spinning now that he's finally in the same space as his Master. And even though their separation was brief, for Castiel, it was still too long. He gazes into Dean's eyes, at his long curved lashes, at his provocative bowed lips, and has to fight the overpowering urge to throw his Master on the floor and fuck his brains out, regardless of his current state of intoxication.

"Mm...way to state the obvious." Dean murmurs grinning and closes his eyes to lean in and give Castiel a sloppy but very heartfelt kiss. "Wow, awesome." He says when he opens them, awed by their new surroundings.

"It pleases me that you approve, Dean." The djinni replies smirking against his Master's parted lips.

"Yeah, but, ah, Cas, where are we?" Dean asks, hands wandering freely over the djinni’s body, fondling and pulling him closer.

"In my bottle, Dean." He exhales his answer into the crook of his Master’s neck, slowly unbuttoning his flannel shirt, sliding his hands around Dean’s waist and rucking his t-shirt enough to grant his warm hands access to the heated skin.

"Huh, that so?" Dean blinks in confusion taking a moment to look around. "S'nice." He says, approving both of the fact that Castiel is undressing him and of the high ceilinged room in which they're both currently standing.

The room is enormous and domed, decorated in an array of blues and whites. Its large bay windows cloaked with diaphanous drapery. Candle burning sconces flickering against every wall. Blue veined marble floors strewn with overstuffed white canvas settees and chaise lounge seats. "S‘homey." Dean compliments the cavernous space, raising his arms to aid the djinni in the removal of his many layers.

Castiel rolls his eyes but smiles fondly. Reaching up he runs a gentle hand across Dean's forehead and blinks. "There…better?"

Dean feels instantly lighter, clear-headed, and now able to focus fully on the gorgeous man in his arms. "Yeah, thanks." He rasps, throat too dry to say much else. He exhales a steadying breath. He may no longer be drunk but his insides are still at war for dominance over his swirling emotions. "Cas, I'm...really sorry." He eventually manages, low and repentant. He wants to say more, to beg and plead for forgiveness but is silenced when Castiel's lips crash against his.

The djinni feasts on him, kisses urgent and hungry, starving. His hands grope and grasp every inch of Dean he can reach. "Master, say the words. You must wish it." Castiel instructs. He pulls away, but not too far, cupping Dean’s face tenderly between his hands holding him in place with wide nervous eyes.

Dean gulps, breaking out in a light sweat. _Fuck, this is it_. "Yeah, okay, um, Cas..." No hesitation, no doubt, not anymore. "...I wish for you to be my djinni." Then, as if remembering his manners, adds, "Please."

As soon as the last word is out of Dean’s mouth, they're bathed in blinding blue light.

The wish is granted.

...

They stay that way, in each other's arms, for an endless moment. Clinging and claiming, sharing and pouring, communicating with their eyes all of the pent up feelings they find impossible to put into words.

"Dean..." Castiel sighs, once the light fades. "I'm..." _Yours._ But, doesn’t get a chance to say it because this time it's Dean's lips smashing brutally against his.

Without parting, Dean steers them towards one of the white couches, sucking kisses from the djinni's mouth and grabbing with eager hands at the round globes of his ass. They fall with a soft swoosh when the back of Castiel's knees hit the cushioned edge of their improvised bed.

"Cas..." It's Dean's turn to say something, but he finds himself speechless, dumb-founded and tongue-tied. _Talking's overrated, anyway._ Always more comfortable with expressing himself through action, he decides to trust in his body and let it do all the talking for him.

He rises, propping himself on hands and knees, and stares hungrily at the already wreaked looking djinni beneath him. "Cas…" It’s the only word he trusts himself to say. He lowers his head and traces Castiel's full bottom lip with his tongue. He kisses and licks at it playfully, sucking it into his mouth and moaning at its taste before finally releasing it with a painful bite.

"Fuck!" The djinni swears and Dean almost swoons knowing that he's the cause for the usually stoic Castiel's loss of control.

They scoot up the couch, a tangle of long ungainly limbs and awkward shuffling, until their very tall frames no longer hang off the edges.

Back in his former position, Dean uses his knees to spread Castiel's legs and lowers himself between the muscular thighs. He goes for Castiel's neck, biting and sucking, sure to leave bruises.

Castiel moans from the exquisite pain, and arches his neck, granting his Master better access and more exposed flesh to ravage.

Their kisses are wet, sloppy and dirty, and even though the room is made cool from the many fans spinning lazily overhead, it's still not enough to stop the sweat from pooling between their naked chests.

Dean sets on his knees and starts to slowly dry hump the writhing djinni. "Ah, Cas... _wishing_ we were completely naked now, 'kay?" He asks uncertainly between breaths. "Aww, fucking god...fuck!" He curses the instant their exposed cocks rub against each other; the slip and slide dizzying, making his dick, not fully hard before, painfully so now.

He forces himself to stop and climbs off certain that if he keeps this pace, their _happy-we’re-back-together-reunion-makeup-sex_ will be over sooner rather than much, much later.

Dean sits up against the backrest and chuckles softly at Castiel's disapproving whimper. "C'mere." He smirks and pulls the djinni up, manhandling him onto his lap, using his ass cheeks to guide the djinni’s thighs against his waist. He chuckles again, this time at the big toothy smile on Castiel’s beautiful face. “Better?” he teases and leans in to lick into Castiel's mouth; tongues hot and wet, quickly fighting for dominance when the kisses become hungrier and more aggressive.

"Fuck me!" Dean gasps and digs his fingers into the firm muscles of Castiel's back, holding him in place as the djinni starts grinding on his lap with the skills of a fucking porn star.

Dean presses their bodies flush and fitting perfectly together, fastens his mouth around the sharp point of Castiel's shoulder, teeth scraping painfully on the jutting bone, mumbling hoarsely against the surrounding muscle. He trails his fingers down the djinni’s back, kneading and massaging the quivering muscles until he gets to the rounded swell of his ass. He pinches and squeezes the firm globes, spreading Castiel’s cheeks to plunge his fingers, delicately, into the tight space.

Castiel’s throaty growl at the first tentative touch to his hole is all the encouragement Dean needs to delve deeper. “Like that, baby?” he whispers against the damp skin on the djinni’s neck. “Want me to fuck you nice and slow, or, are you in the mood for a hard rough fuck?” he asks dirtily, teasing the entrance with his fingernail.

Castiel grunts at the intrusion, thighs stiffening so that he’s on his knees. He wraps his arms around Dean's neck, fingers entwined in the short tufts of his hair, and pulls. "Dean..." He breathes into his mouth. "I'm afraid I can't hold out much longer.” he gasps, and answers, “I would like a hard rough fuck...please." And seals his request with a very thorough kiss; the heat from mouth, and the promise in his voice, shooting straight to Dean’s dick.

Dean moans softly, losing himself to the invitation and opens up to him, tongues swiping wetly across each other, cock pushing up between their bodies, bucking and bouncing the djinni on his lap. But as delirious as the djinni has him, Dean outright wails when Castiel licks his palm and closes his wet fingers around his shaft.

"Mmfgh..." Dean groans, when the djinni brushes his thumb gently over the swollen head. “Argh!” He babbles incoherently when Castiel adds to the glorious friction by pressing their dicks together to rub and stroke, smearing their combined wetness to strip in time with his grinding. "Fuck...just like that..." Dean pants grabbing Castiel by the neck to pull him in for another rough kiss.

"Master..." The djinni gasps, mouthing the word against Dean's lips, leaving then wet and shiny. Hand still wrapped around Dean’s dick, he arches back, exposing more of his naked flesh for his Master to take and taste.

Dean growls and attacks, lapping his way down Castiel's torso from the sharp edge of his stubbled jaw to the protruding bud of his nipple, suckling and teething it between his teeth. “Baby, you’re so fucking gorgeous.” He swears, not at all surprised by the effect the djinni’s having on him. How Castiel’s tiny gasps, desperate clutching, and deep blush, are making him even more alluring, and Dean, more aroused.

Dean slinks his hands back under the djinni’s ass cheeks, fingers sliding effortlessly on the slick skin, and dips them in to resume their teasing, gently prodding against the puckered rim. "Lube." He wishes aloud and huffs out, pleased when his slicked finger sinks in easily to the first knuckle.

Castiel whimpers at the sensation, fueling Dean's desire with his sweet little noises.

Dean pushes in all the way, pulsing in and out with great care, before adding a second finger. With two fingers, he spirals and corkscrews his motions, stretching and opening the muscle, confident he’s found Castiel’s sensitive prostate when a strangled sob falls from the djinni’s parted lips.

“M...more..." Castiel gasps, "M'ready...fuck me now!" He orders desperate and needy.

"Soon…baby. I got cha." Dean manages to say and adds a third finger grabbing Castiel's head with his free hand, ready to swallow the djinni’s pornographic sob when it comes. "Mmmm...! You’re fucking delicious." He groans pressing their foreheads together. "More lube, sweetheart." He wishes breath shuddering when the djinni’s firm grip on his cock becomes more heated and slippery.

It takes no more than three or four swipes from Castiel's talented hand for Dean to be dangerously close. He grabs the djinni by his narrow hips, lifting and pulling him closer, lining his cock up to his entrance. He feels around blindly with his dick, guiding Castiel down until his cock meets puckered resistance.

They groan in unison, deep voices low and lustful, full of satisfaction once Castiel is fully seated.

They cling to each other, fingers digging painfully into sides, shoulders and backs, eyes locking. Dean takes a deep calming breath, willing his heart to slow the fuck down from the overwhelming heat and pressure. Castiel grunts and hisses, reveling in the rightness from having his Master in him; the fullness and intimacy his body was deprived now corrected, made right.

"Cas..." _I fucking love you!_ Dean wants to shout. _Not yet._ He wants to make sure it's his heart and not his dick doing the talking. So instead, says, "...move."

"Your wish is my greatest pleasure, Master." Castiel says voice gruff and impatient, meaning every single word. He levels Dean with a lustful stare and smirks wickedly, grinding and undulating sensuously, barely releasing Dean's dick from his vice-like grip. He reaches past Dean’s shoulders to grip the couch's backrest and using it as leverage starts impaling himself steadily on his Master's cock. He sets a punishing pace, rising slowly but slamming his ass down with more and more force after each consecutive thrust.

Their moans and gasps mingle through labored breaths. They swallow and exchange oxygen between sloppy wet kisses. Dean takes Castiel's full bottom lip between his own and holds it, sucking on it like a pacifier, giving it a painful little nip before releasing it.

"Master!" Castiel hisses, flooring Dean with the wave of affection he gets from the djinni's angry little pout. _How can you be so fucking hot and adorable at the same time?_ He wonders.

He looks down to where they're joined mesmerized and awed at the sight of the djinn's long thick cock bobbing obscenely between them. "Fucking gorgeous!" Dean repeats on a shaky breath, electricity shooting up his spine when he wraps his fingers around Castiel's erection.

Castiel lurches at his touch, almost falling off when his Master begins to jerk him off.

Dean’s grip is firm and the strokes methodical, and with a clever twist of his wrist, teases the crown to rub and smear the leaking fluid with his thumb.

"Dean..." Castiel wails, the high-pitched moan signaling how close he is.

Dean doesn’t need to hear him, though, to know his lover’s nearing his climax. He can feel it in the trembling of his thighs and the clenching of his hole. "Wait for me, baby." He says, and wraps his arms around the djinni to throw him on his back, all the while managing to stay joined. He slips out to adjust their positions pausing for a brief moment to marvel at Castiel’s submissiveness and astonished at the complete control he has over him.

_Or, is it the other way around?_ He wonders.

The thought raising all kinds of questions about how much he really thinks he knows himself. But, right here and now, is not the time to analyze how much the thought of dominating and being dominated is such a turn-on for him. _Plenty of time to sort that out, later. And plenty of role-playing_ _to look forward to._ He realizes happily, mentally giving himself a fist-pump at all the delicious ideas that immediately come to mind.

Dean plants his hands on either side of the djinni's face, rises on his elbows and locks his eyes with half-lidded ones. He hovers over the wriggling man beneath him and chuckles silently at the haphazard spikes of his sex-wreaked hair; moaning quietly when the djinni pokes his tongue out to moisten his kiss-bruised lips. Dean's eyes travel lower, pausing to gaze at his pronounced clavicle, eyes lingering briefly on erect nipples, and finally stopping to focus on the dark trail of hair that leads to a tangle of curls housing the djinni's rock-hard dick. He studies him there, licking his lips, fascinated by the matching shades of pink between the cock’s plumb head and those of the djinni’s lips.

Dean knows he’s close, can feel it in his balls, but as much as he wants to bury himself inside Castiel’s wet heat, he finds himself struggling with another impulse ( _to just take the djinni’s pretty cock into his_ _mouth and suck him dry)_ later, he decides and chooses instead to lower his head, for another kiss.

The kisses start chaste and sweet, full of intimacy and meaning, becoming hot and desperate the moment their tongues touch.

Dean lowers his body, laying it completely over his lover's, running his hands down his sides to grab handfuls of his ass-cheeks and spread them almost to the point of pain.

Castiel moans and lifts his legs, hooking his ankles around his Master's waist, clutching and pulling at his back leaving behind his own trail of scratches and bruises.

Dean sets on his knees and braces his hands on either side of the djinni’s waist. "Fuck, baby…ready for me?" he groans, sighing the heated question onto Castiel’s tongue, and without waiting for a reply, slams back into him, quick snap of his hips pounding into Castiel without mercy.

"D-Dean...!" Castiel pants, following his Master's name with a litany of pleas and curses. "Argh!" He grunts, breath hitching from the impact, hiking his hips higher for deeper penetration.

"Fuck...Cas..." Dean gasps in beat with his thrusts, heated breath scorching against the djinni's neck, and true to his word, fucks Castiel rough and hard; the urgency in his movements fueled by his overwhelming need to claim and possess.

It's desperate and without finesse, but the urge to mark Castiel's insides, just as he has his flesh, won't be satisfied until the djinni is overflowing with his seed. Dean lifts his eyes meeting blue and plunges his tongue into Castiel’s open mouth. His rhythm stutters and his breath hitches. "Ahhh...Cas!" He stammers and spills, filling the djinni with his cum.

The combination of wet searing heat to his hole and delicious friction to his cock trapped between their sweat slicked stomachs, forces the djinni’s climax."Umph!" He grunts as he orgasms, face buried in Dean's neck, limbs clinging tightly to his Master's slumped form.

They lay tangled together; trading tender kisses, caressing overworked muscles, sharing secrets, making promises, until their heated skin has cooled and goose-fleshed.

"Got a blanket tucked away in this mess of cushions, Cas?” Dean teases. “Mmm, much better." He hums now nestled under heavy silk-lined comforters. He tugs his djinni close, wrapping him in his arms and legs, and whispering sweet nothings into his neck, falls into a heavenly exhausted sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As you can see, I used a couple of lines from the show and fiddled with them a little to suit my purposes. It's always great fun when I'm able to insert a little dose of canon into my AUs.


	7. Peer Pressure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He takes a moment to study them: Dean and Castiel, and the impossibility of their pairing. The quirk of fate and chance that eventually brought them together. He reflects on how hard Dean worked to alienate the djinni. And on how steadfast and unrelenting an opponent Castiel proved to be against his brother's stubbornness and insecurities.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As you may have already noticed, I wrote John as a caring and loving father. Yes, he made some pretty effed up choices in canon, but here he's stern and strict, but still devoted as fck to his boys.

"I was about to ask Gabe to go looking for you." Sam jokes, chuckling softly at the sight of the blissed out pair that just materialized in the middle of the living room. "Ah, everything okay between you two?" He asks, noting with a dubious sort of humor that they're standing disturbingly close and hoping Dean isn't too graphic with his answer.

"What do you think, Sammy?" Dean replies, wagging his eyebrows, grinning, and giving Castiel a playful little slap on the rear to make his meaning clear.

"Ew, gross Dean. I'm gonna go bleach my brain now, thanks." Sam grimaces.

"Always glad to help with the cleaning, bro." Dean smirks. But Sam smiles too, not able to begrudge his brother a rare good mood, even if it is at his own expense.

He takes a moment to study them: Dean and Castiel, and the impossibility of their pairing. The quirk of fate and chance that eventually brought them together. He reflects on how hard Dean worked to alienate the djinni. And what a steadfast and unrelenting opponent Castiel proved to be, especially when battling against his brother's stubbornness and insecurities. And finally, Sam recalls his relief when Dean finally admitted what he truly wanted, where his true heart's desire lay; with his djinni, Castiel.

Dean would scoff, thinking his brother a complete sap. But he can’t help that he finds their story incredibly romantic. And thanks God, or at least Gabriel, for helping to get the _made-for-each-other_ _pair_ back together, and avoiding any world ending tragedy, along the way. And it must be a testament on how his view of right and wrong has been altered when it doesn't even phase him that their union was made possible thanks to a few pranks and the manipulations of some truths. _Hey, at this point,_ _whatever works,_ Sam concedes.

"What the hell are you so happy about?" Dean asks, frowning and honestly confused at his younger brother's goofy grin. "'Cuz last I checked, I'm the one who just had mind blowing sex." He throws in, wanting to steer the focus off the last thirty seconds and his brother's love-struck ogling.

"Again, yuck, and enough with the graphics, okay?" Sam begs rubbing at his eyes with rough aggressive motions.

"Dude, you were the one that started with the twenty questions."

"Twenty, seriously? Dean, I was just ask-"

"Whoa, calm down, Sammy. You're gonna bust a vessel or something, getting yourself so worked up over shit." Dean tries to soothe.

"Sam, thank you for your concern. But Dean and I, we...." Castiel interjects looking over at his Master's love filled stare."We are _well_." He stresses.

"Whoa, okay there, baby bro. Now that you’ve totally creeped out my Master, can we get back to business?" Gabriel says stepping in to rescue Sam.

"Yes, of course, my apologies.” Castiel says. “You're referring to ending Crowley’s reign." He adds assuredly.

"No, you clueless dunce. Getting you out of the hot-seat." Gabriel huffs, annoyed that he actually needs to enlighten Castiel and remind the brothers.

But to Gabriel's dismay, Castiel's response is to stare back at his brother with honest confusion. "I don't understand." he replies straight-faced and serious.

"Woo-ooh” Gabriel whistles. “Captain," he says, looking to Dean, one eyebrow cocked in shock, "you mean to tell me that the only thing you’ve been filling Cassie with is your-"

"Gabriel!" Sam snaps, tone sharp, warning his djinni to behave.

"Aww, come on Sam, I was just gonna ask him if he's told Cassie about the hot water he's in. Or, if all they've been up to is measuring and weighing Dean’s d-"

"Gabriel!" All three men yell.

"Jeez, alright, just making sure you're all paying attention." He sighs dramatically, but is secretly satisfied that his tried-and-true shock tactics have worked, yet again. "Now," he continues after a beat, "mind sharing with my baby bro the deep shit he's in, boys?”

"Way to spring the bad news, Gabe." Dean snarls through clenched teeth, his frustration towards Gabriel apparent in the minute tic in his jaw. "And for your information, I was just getting to it."

"Oh were you?" Gabriel challenges. "'Cause it sure didn't look like that to me. From where I stand, it looked like the only thing you were filling Cassie with was your co-"

"Gabriel, enough! Don't make me muzzle you, brother." Castiel warns, his threat both silencing and unsettling to the older djinni.

"Fine, I'll stop." Gabriel shouts, face uncharacteristically grim. "But don't come crying to me anymore for help on saving Cassie from the big-bad." He turns to Castiel and says, "My debt to you is paid, brother." Then, with a tight nod of his head, vanishes.

...

"Gabe does have a point." Sam says, breaking the awkward silence left by Gabriel's abrupt departure, and silently coming to terms with the fact that perhaps he and Dean were acting like a pair of ungrateful assholes. "Ah, Dean, I'm gonna go check on him, okay. I'll be back later." He announces distractedly, already planning on how to smooth things over with his djinni.

"Yeah, no problem, Sam." Dean grudgingly agrees. "Maybe we did get a little...demanding."

"The word you're looking for is douchey, Dean." Sam corrects, folding his massive arms defensively. "We acted like a pair of dicks and he had every right to storm off. Or, fly off? Or whatever the hell. But I'm gonna go apologize."

"Okay, yeah. You go and, um, tell him I'm sorry too." Dean yells after his brother's already retreating form. When he hears the front door close, he turns back to Castiel, takes him by the hand and leads him to the couch.

"Listen, Cas..." he starts to say, but takes a moment to reach out and press his hand against the djinni's cheek, loving the warm and stubble rough feel of his skin. He runs his thumbnail, tenderly, against the grain on his chin and leans in for a kiss, _because it's been too damn long._

 _It's been at least fifteen minutes since we last sucked face._ Dean grouses. _With lips_ _like that, he's lucky I don't wish for him to have them constantly attached to mine._ Now that thought brings up all kinds of fantasies Dean would like to visit. _Fuck, Gabe was right._ Dean admits, because apparently he can't be near the djinni without wanting to touch him; his own traitorous body constantly aching for him.

_I'm so damned screwed!_

He pulls away and exhales a long heated sigh against Castiel's mouth. _Fucking gorgeous and dreamy_ _and sexy, and badass_ \- Dean's mind goes into overdrive, rambling an endless stream of praise for his blue-eyed djinni. _Get a grip!_

"Man, Cas, I gotta say, you don't make it easy for a guy to just sit back and talk to you. I mean..." He waves his hand across the long expanse of the djinni's reclined body, as if that gesture alone could encompass the whole of his meaning.

"I don't understand, Dean." Castiel answers, the words slipping past his lips in a low rumble and the air around them charges, the current between them, crackles.

 _Fuck!_ "That!" Dean yelps, "That right there! That's exactly what I mean." He pulls back, but only far enough to point an accusitory finger directly at the djinni, jabbing it repeatedly against the toned plane of his stomach, never breaking eye contact.

"What? This?" Castiel asks, but the hungry look in his eyes belies the innocence in his tone. Then, to further compound his wicked intent, the djinni takes Dean's finger and sucks it into his mouth.

"..."

"Mmmm....Master..." Castiel moans, long lashes fluttering in pleasure.

"@_@"

As if not satisfied with only one finger, Castiel angles Dean's hand just so, and sucks in two more. He licks and slurps noisily, running his tongue up and down, between and around his Master's tasty digits, humming in delight.

_Okay, new strategy: 1. Focus. 2. Tell Cas everything. 3. Figure out a plan to keep Cas out of danger. 4. Get my dick into Cas' mouth._

"Ah...Cas?" Dean croaks, voice cracking as his throat dries up. He licks his lips and tries again. "Baby, you're gonna give me a friggin heart attack if you keep that up." He warns. _But what a way to die!_ _God damn it! Why did I ever_ _order him to stay out of my head? Be so much easier if he would just read my friggin mind, already._ _Wait, that's it! Read my mind!_

"Cas!" Dean says in triumph, as if the proverbial light bulb has finally clicked on. He pounces on the djinni, eyes bright, smile wide.

"Master?" Castiel asks, wary of his Master's sudden elation, unsure how to react. He squints in suspicion and allows himself a moment to feel around his Master's mind for the answer.

"Read my mind, Cas. Go ahead, do it." Dean wishes.

But Castiel didn't expect this. From their first moments together, Dean has been adamant that Castiel not read his thoughts. It was difficult for the djinni at first, since that was the only way he and his Master communicated before Dean finally undid Hajji’s spell and released him from his bottle. Using words seemed too informal, unnatural, and wrong to the newly freed djinni. And now this. Dean's sudden change of heart. It has the djinni second-guessing and asking himself how well he can intuit his Master's wishes.

"I don't understand, Dean." He repeats, words halting, uncertain, but meaning every syllable this time.

"Cas, I, ah...I'm not the best with words. Okay?" Dean confesses, "Yeah, I know, hard to believe." He adds, then laughs softly at his own expense. "But with you...with that thing you can do-" he continues, voice lowering as the inches between them lessen, falling silent when their faces are just a breath's space away. And now all Dean has to do is tip his head a scant inch lower, angle it a bit to the side, and he can kiss the worry-filled frown away from Castiel's face. And that's exactly what he does. For a long glorious moment Dean presses kiss after kiss against his djinni's lush lips, not stopping until he's sure the tension has drained from Castiel's rigid form.

"But, Master," Castiel protests, "you forbade me." He insists, "And I quote-"

But Dean's lips cut him off again. This time, though, the astronaut doesn't let up until he’s positive the djinni's thoroughly soothed and his body is loose and pliant in his arms.

"Better now?" Dean asks after a while, eyes soft, full of tenderness for his djinni, lips parted, ready to keep going in case Castiel needs further comforting. And if the djinni’s adorable little pout is anything to go by, then he does, and plenty of it. And Dean, never one to shirk his duties (or do a half-assed job) gladly obliges.

He starts by trying to coax the worry out of the djinni with his mouth and hands, sliding fingers through Castiel's dark hair, alternately tugging and idly stroking at the wayward strands, licking wetly across the tight straight line of the djinni's lips until his own tongue's sucked in and trapped between Castiel's teeth. It's so distracting, Dean momentarily forgets his original purpose.

 _Aww, fuckit!_ Dean thinks, and skips straight to step four. He throws the djinni flat on his back and clutches his sides, wiggling until he's mounted him. Dean uses his bulkier build and heavier weight to pin Castiel down, grips him tightlly and whispers sweet-nothing's into the arch of his neck.

"Cas, fuckin crazy for you..." He’s so lost in the moment and in his lover, that he doesn't here the soft knocking, then the jingle of keys, and finally, the squeakless opening of his front door.

"Dean! What the hell is going on here?" John thunders.

"Dad!" Dean yelps, jumping off the couch as if scalded. He looks towards his father, expecting to see anger or disappointment in his eyes; a slew of excuses for what his dad 'might have seen' at the ready: from outright denial, to how Castiel was simply helping him with his CPR training. Or, and it's not really as desperate as it may seem (at least as far as Dean is concerned) to plop back down on the sofa and hope his body's large enough to efficiently conceal the djinni from view, act as if Castiel isn't really there). Yeah, he could totally pull that off.

But when John only stares back at his flustered son with a sort of irritated-slightly-amused-frown, Dean can't help but sag in relief.

"Ah...hey, pop." he says, seriously impressed that he manages to keep his voice from wavering.

 _But why should it waver?_ Dean begins to wonder. He's not doing anything wrong, right? No. As a matter of fact, it's his dad that should be embarrassed. He's the one that barged in on him. Uninvited. Without so much as a phone call. Or a knock on the door, for chrissakes. Yeah, Dean's the one who should be outraged. He's got nothing to be ashamed of. Right? Yeah!

And with that mysterious (and sudden jolt of confidence) Dean decides to 'man-up' and introduce the djinni to his father, once and for all. 

"Dad, I want to-" Dean starts to say, but when he turns back to the sofa, the words die in his throat. "Ah...um, I-" he stammers, it's all he's got, because instead of seeing Castiel's long limbs sprawled lazily across the couch (the way he thought he left him) he sees a mess of cushions. And that's it. That's all. No sign of the rumpled half-naked djinni anywhere, only slightly molested upholstery.

"Dean, do I need to be worried here?" John asks, clearly more alarmed than angry, brow furrowed with worry.

Dean's not exactly sure how to answer that. Sure, on the one hand he's relieved Castiel knew enough to take-off, and now his dad is none the wiser. But on the other...well, part of him can't help but feel...disappointed.

"Dean?"

The heightened note of concern in John's tone snaps Dean back. "Sir, no, why do you ask?" He replies, voice still surprisingly steady but nonetheless hoping that the dim lights of the room conceal the deep blush he knows is coating his cheeks.

John regards him a moment longer, and then says, "Well, you didn't hear me knock. And then, when I walked in, I thought I heard you talking to someone." He shakes his head dismissively and plows on. "Damn it, Dean, I saw you holding someone!" He swears, sure that he must sound crazy but certain of what he witnessed.

"Saw someone? Dad, there's no one here." Dean smiles, feigning confusion and gestures towards the empty couch. "And ah, I was taking a nap so I didn't hear the door and probably talking in my sleep, s'all." He explains with a shrug.

"You make it a habit when you sleep to kiss and hold onto your cushions like you’re about to have sex with them, is that what you're trying to tell me?"

Dean's slack jawed, at a loss for words and wants nothing more than to crawl up and die, disappear for good and get away from his father's relentless interrogation. He snaps his mouth shut realizing how inane and guilty he must seem, and takes a moment to throw a very heartfelt thank-you to the djinni's quick reflexes for sparing him the embarrassment of explaining why he was humping and fondling the obviously male djinni, instead of a few cushions.

**Bump!**

"What was that?" John asks, head snapping towards the cieling.

"Ah, what was what?" Dean asks, trying for casual, but failing miserably.

**Thump, bang, bump-bump.**

"Dean, it sounds like someone's moving furniture up there." John says, his voice getting louder with his growing irritation at his son's ridiculous deflections.

"Oh, that? That's ah, um...nothing. N'ah, just the, um, the, plumber. Yeah, there's a leak in the bathroom and he's fixing it." Dean stammers stupidly.

**Boom, pop, clatter!**

John's had enough. He turns on Dean and stares him down, pins him to the spot with his dreaded _'stop trying to bullshit me'_ glare. A look both Dean and Sam have the misfortune to know all too well.

When Dean immediately drops his eyes, John chuckles, feeling terrible for causing his son any discomfort, but also pleased that he still can. "Fine, alright. Keep your secrets." he says, throwing his hands up in surrender. "I didn't come over to pry into your personal life, son. Although, I was hoping that maybe I'd be hearing about you and Lisa finally getting back together again." he admits, "Kinda irked that I had to hear it from Ellen." he mutters, then turning towards the stairs, yells, "Don't mind me Lisa, I won't keep Dean too long." He looks back towards Dean, ignores his son's stunned expression, and sends him an all-knowing wink.

"Ah, dad, that's not-"

"Oh don't try denying it boy. I heard all about how inseparable you two were. I honestly don't understand why you just don't admit it. It's not like there's someone else. Or is there?" He challenges, eyebrow cocked, arms crossed.

But before Dean can work out an answer his father would find acceptable, he's interrupted by the distinct sound of a door opening then closing and soft footsteps walking slowly, but deliberately down the stairs.

Both men turn towards the source. John, hoping it's his future daughter-in-law, looks on expectantly, wide welcoming smile planted firmly in place. Dean, stomach full of rocks, stands stock still, completely ill at ease. All he expects ( _hopes_ ) is that when he faints (and there's no way he's not gonna at least collapse or suffocate from dread) he'll be out long enough for his dad to give up and leave, declare Dean a lost cause. Wipe his hands clean and be done with him. _Fingers-crossed_. But Dean still finds himself unprepared for the man that finally comes into view at the bottom landing.

Castiel steps into the living room and says, "Hello, Dean." 

John's smile slips and he frowns in confusion. Dean ogles. It's his djinni, but not. Because instead of sporting his usual uniform of harem pants and open vest, Castiel is dressed in a very tight pair of jeans and a snug t-shirt. Basically, walking sex. 

John looks at Dean. Dean looks at Castiel. Castiel looks smug. _The bastard._

"You're the plumber?" John asks the djinni, tone full of suspicion. But there's something about the dark haired stranger that seems...familiar; a quick glimmer of recognition that niggles at the back of his mind. 

"Castiel." the djinni replies and extends his hand. He gives the General a firm gripped handshake and a small smile.

Watching the surreal scene unfold in front of him finally snaps Dean out of his daze. He rushes forward and steps in, ready to give his dad a 'back-story' on his 'plumber' before the djinni tries to offer one.

"This is my friend Cas, dad." Dean blurts. "He was on one of my tours in Iraq. Just got into town. He's staying with me and Sammy for a couple of days. He does, ah, plumbing now. Right? Ain't that so Cas?" Dean explains, eyes imploring Castiel to go along with his story.

Castiel matches Dean's fretful glare with stony expression of his own. "Ah, yes." he agrees after a too long pause, eyes locked on his Master. "We, Dean and I, are friends from the...war. We served in the same battalion." he clarifies, then turning to face John, adds, "And during our time there, Dean and I developed a very close friendship. Our dependency on each other grew daily, our bond, intensifying. Some would even call it...profound." Then, as an afterthought (if the snap of his fingers is any indication) he confirms Dean's initial introduction. "Oh, and I also do his plumbing." 

Dean holds in, with great difficulty, the groan bubbling up his throat, and has to physically restrain himself from banging his head against the wall, because, _why_?

"You were in Iraq? With Dean?" John asks, either not hearing or ignoring the rest of Castiel's unnecessarily elaborate - and downright disturbing - tale.

"Then you know what happened?" John asks softly, cautiously, afraid the statement might scare off Castiel.

"Dad!" Dean snaps, his sharp tone adding to the increasing tension. "I already told you everything you need to know on that subject, okay. So please...just drop it." It's the only topic Dean would ever deny his father complete access. The only topic off limits. So he grits his teeth and holds firm; the memories of those four months in hell too horrible for to relive. "Cas was discharged before I was captured." he offers, but it doesn't soften the reprimand, "So leave him alone, 'cause he doesn't know anything."

"I'm sorry, son. Got a little carried away." John apologizes, and it's an image Dean can do without. He can't stand seeing his father cowed. "It's just, if you could give me just a few more details, I know I cou-"

"Dad, enough!" Dean snaps again, beyond fed up and more than ready to move on from this subject.

John drops his head, his shoulders droop minutely, defeated. He nods once, twice, then turns back to the djinni. "Nice to meet you, Castiel." He says, then coughs loudly, breaking the awkward silence. "Dean, the reason I actually stopped by is to see how you're doing with those recordings. NASA's getting impatient, especially since there's talk of another mission.

"They want a final report immediately on what went wrong with your mission. They don't want to make the same mistakes going forward." He explains, now back in full General mode.

"Sir, I still have two days." Dean reminds him.

"No, Captain. One day. I want your report by 0800 hours tomorrow." He reaches over and clasps a firm, reassuring hand on Dean's shoulder. "See you in the morning."

"Sir." Dean confirms.

John gives him a small nod of acknowledgment, then turns to Castiel. "Hope to see you soon, Castiel." he says holding onto Castiel's blue eyed stare with his own hazel one; he's positive he's seen him before. _But where?_

"Yes, General, I would like that very much." Castiel answers, and he means it, he would love to spend more time getting to know his Master's family.

…

A split second after the door clicks shut, Castiel blinks himself to Dean's side, stands only inches apart. Castiel wants to reach out, to take his Master's hand, but holds himself back, arms held closely at his sides, his brow creased with worry.

Dean knows what's coming next.

"Master, what happened? What did your father think I knew about your time in Iraq?"

"Nothing." Dean lies, "It was a long time ago, okay. There's nothing for you to worry about."

"But perhaps I can help, Master. Please," the djinni urges, reaching towards Dean's forehead with splayed fingers, "let me see what happened. I must know." he demands. Castiel wills himself to remain calm; just the thought of his Master suffering, is intolerable, especially if he could reverse whatever damage was done. And if in the process he brings swift and painful justice against his Master's attackers, then all the better.

"I said drop it!" Dean snaps then winces, the words came out harsher than he intended. "Just...let's stay focused here, alright. Bigger fish to fry, and all that happy-horse-shit." he adds, voice softer. "Remember, we were talking about keeping _you_ safe. _You're_ the one in immediate danger." he deftly redirects, and hopes the change of subject will dissuade Castiel from asking anymore questions about his unsavory past.

"And if you're gonna use your mojo to peek inside my head, it's to check out what I wanted to show you before my dad barged in on us. Oh-" he suddenly says, taking a step towards the djinni until they're chest to chest, "what the fuck was that?" He wants to know, reaching up to wrap his hands around Castiel's well-defined biceps. "And where the hell did you get these clothes?" He snarls against the dijinni's cheek, then shoves him, not too gently, against the wall. But Dean's immediately back on him, hands roaming everywhere, pawing and pulling at the low cut dark grey t-shirt clinging provocatively across the wide expanse of Castiel's shoulders and chiseled pecs.

The abrupt manhandling chases away any lingering questions Castiel was about to ask his Master. Instead, he decides to drop the subject, for the moment, and bide his time until the perfect opportunity presents itself and he can coax Dean into loosening his tongue and reveal that which will bring him immense pleasure, the smiting of his Master's enemies. For now, however, he'll indulge his Master's more immediate concerns and plays along.

"These clothes belong to Balthazar." He replies matter-of-fact, his tone neutral and completely ignorant to Dean's jealousy over Balthazar, unaware that the mere mention of his name burns a hole in his Master's gut.

"And why, may I ask, did you feel the need to go flying to that smarmy bastard?" Dean asks through gritted teeth; clenching his jaw so tightly, he wouldn't be at all surprised if his teeth cracked from the pressure.

He's incensed, pissed off, fucking furious, with himself, his fucked up past, his million issues and now with this mystery man that his djinni feels the need to fly off to whenever he needs comforting. He wants to rant, shout, and introduce Balthazar to his fists. But as angry as he is, being this physically close to Castiel, all up in each others personal space, makes him dizzy and leaves him weak in the knees.

It's the magnetic pull of the djinni, the soul deep attraction and off-the-charts chemistry between them that makes it impossible for Dean to string two coherent thoughts together at a time. His emotions roil, going from wanting to punch and maim, to needing to claim and possess. He grabs at the thin cotton of the djinni's t-shirt, intending to tear it off. Instead, he pulls the hem free from the faded low riding jeans, and feels his mouth fill with water when he looks down and sees a sliver if exposed tan flesh.

"Dean, your father startled me." Castiel continues to explain, seemingly oblivious to the effect his wearing another man’s clothes is having on his Master. "And I know you would have been upset if I had blinked him away like I did with Sam. Therefore, I flew to Balthazar. And he's not smarm..., ahhhh, Master!" Castiel, caught off guard, moans when Dean runs a fingernail tantalizingly across the exposed strip of skin, and finally getting with the program, lurches forward to bury his face in Dean's neck and clamp down on the tender flesh.

"Mmm, you were saying?" Dean smirks and runs his fingernail in the opposite direction. Sliding his hand lower, he opens his palm to cup the growing bulge in the djinni’s jeans; all his previous ire replaced with his quickly building arousal. He yanks at the offending v-neck biting back a moan when he exposes a very pronounced clavicle. He licks his lips and dips his head down ready to sink his teeth onto the fragile bone. He pulls Castiel closer by his belt loops, rolling his hips to part the djinni’s legs, undoing the snap-button with a quick flick of his thumb, easing the zipper down, one metal tooth at a time, drawing out the moment. His eyes grow wider as the trail of soft hairs low on the djinni’s belly darken and become denser, leading the way to his pretty cock.

"He was going to say that I am not a smarmy bastard, you meaningless little mud-monkey." Balthazar says casually, startling the pair by helpfully finishing his very distracted brother's sentence.

...

"Unfuckingbelievable!" Dean roars. _I can't catch a fucking break!_ "So you're Balthazar?" He turns to glare at the blonde djinni. _Does he have to be so good looking? Fuck!_

"Hmph." Balthazar snorts. "Looks and brains, guess we won't be getting anything past you. Cassie darling, how have you managed to keep him all to yourself?" He asks snidely.

"Cas, please tell this fuck-wad to take his douchey accent and his man cleavage and get the fuck out of my house." Dean fumes.

"Nice manners there, Dean-o. Not exactly the kind of welcome you should be giving the djinni that’s going to save your precious Castiel." Gabriel interrupts.

At Sam and Gabriel's sudden appearance, Dean and Castiel finally separate.

Dean surveys the room. Three djinn, assuming that prick Balthazar is one too, and two humans. _This_ _could be bad._ He stands shoulder to shoulder with his djinni, taking comfort from their hands brushing against each other, daring anyone to make a comment.

"The fuck's going on, Sam?"

Sam looks over to Dean and Castiel, a small smile curling at the corner of his lips at their blatant PDA, and would laugh at the hilarity of the situation if his brother weren't so mortified. "Dean, ah, Balthazar here, has a plan that will keep Cas out of NASA's sights, while still feeding them a plausible reason for the crash and the voices in the recording." He explains, hoping the good news eases the tension in the room.

"And what can he offer that Gabe and Cas can't do themselves?" Dean wants to know.

"I, you ungrateful snit, am willing to take the fall. You see, unlike your very selfish ass, I love Cassie enough to let your beloved NASA have a bit of fun with me."

"Balthazar, I won't allow this. You will not sacrifice yourself for me." Castiel's gruff voice commands.

"Oh I beg to differ, Castiel. Make no mistake this will happen the way I have planned it, with or without your blessing."

"Gabriel, how could you permit this?" Castiel growls.

Gabriel turns to regard him. 'Listen bro, we're running out of time, and this is the best option we have." He points out. "And it's not like you and your Master have been putting your heads together to come up with a better solution. Heh, at least not the heads on your necks. Only your little heads have been rub-"

"Gabe, seriously, don't start that again." Sam begs, trying to preempt a fight.

"Oops, yeah. Sorry Sam, forgot." Gabriel apologizes locking his lips with an invisible key and throwing it away.

"Very well, if you both don't desist and abandon this plan, then I will be forced to bind you. You know I'm fully capable." Castiel threatens, standing to his full height, trying to appear as menacing as possible.

"Oh, p-shaw! You don't intimidate me." Balthazar bluffs. "You don't have the amount of juice it would take to over-power the both us. And besides, you ninny, I'm doing this for you. It's fool-proof." He points out, arms held out imploringly. A beat later, he lowers them, resigned, and walks up to Castiel. "Please, brother, let me do this one thing for you." He insists, cupping Castiel's cheek, his voice lower, more intimate.

_Brother? Eew!_

"Brother," Castiel says, his approach softer. "I thank you, but you don't owe me anything. Neither of you do." He turns to include Gabriel. "What happened was of my own choosing. I knew the consequences of my decisions." He adds vehemently, and looking fully on Dean, says, "And I would not change a single one of them." His voice fierce, his eyes burning with conviction.

A melee breaks out. Protests from Sam and the other two djinn fall on Castiel's deaf ears. He tunes their arguments out, favoring instead the warm breath against his cheek, the firm hand on his ass, and the soft words whispered into his ear.

"Seriously, that prick is your brother?"


	8. Possessive Much?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Dean will never belong to another. Anyone that tries to take him away from me will be eviscerated." The djinni states plainly, calmly. "I will wipe them from existence and the world will weep from their cries." He growls, emotions breaking through, sounding murderous. 
> 
> "Whoa, dramatic-much, bro?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit of fluff and porn to set the pace for a little more action in the next chapter.  
> Again, thanks for reading!!

"Okay, okay!" Gabriel shouts and whistles above the din of voices. "Yo, Cassie, mind turning your attention our way? I mean, after-all, this argument is because of you and Dean." He says with an exaggerated roll of his eyes.

Castiel throws a particularly steely glare towards his brother, irritated at being interrupted when he's with his Master. "I've heard everything you have all said, Gabriel. But as I stated before, I will not permit Balthazar to put himself at risk for me."

Two strong hands grip him by the shoulders and turn him in place. “Dean?” Castiel asks, forehead furrowing in confusion at the look of concern in his Master's expressive green eyes.

"Cas..." Dean starts, leaning in closely so that only his djinni hears what he’s about to say. "Maybe you should think this through a little more carefully. I hate to admit it, but I think you should listen to their plan before you make your final decision."

"Yes, Cassie, listen to your pet." Balthazar instructs, clearly eavesdropping on Dean's private comments.

"Balthazar, you will control your tongue, or I will do it for you." Castiel warns, and turns back to look at his Master."I will listen, because _you_ asked." He whispers to Dean, glad to indulge his Master's every request. "Very well, brother, what’s your plan?" He asks, addressing Balthazar again.

"Well, it's about bloody time." The blonde djinni grumbles, slapping his hands together and looking to Gabriel before he starts. "Alright then, the plan is very simple: your Master reports that the mysterious voice in the recording is mine. He'll say that he flew back to the island and searched for me, found me, and then flew me back. Um, that's about it. Anything to add, Gabriel?"

"Nope, you covered it pretty thoroughly, Balty." Gabriel mumbles around a mouthful of chewy candy.

"Ta-da, then." Balthazar exclaims, spreading his arms out in a dramatic flourish.

"Dude, your plan raises more questions than it answers." Dean argues, pinching the bridge of his nose to stave off the headache he can feel brewing just below the surface.

"Just a minute, Dean." Sam steps in, hands outstretched and placating, puppy dog look firmly in place to get his brother's attention. "Balthazar may have simplified it, but the plan is sound."

"Simplified? You think?” He challenges. “Which part of his plan explains why the ship crashed?"

"Yeah, well, about that part, we can, you know, bluff our way through." Sam replies, not caring that he’s being vague.

Dean's eyebrows shoot up comically at his brother's solution. "Bluff? Sam, your answer is to lie to dad's face? You? Hmph," He snorts, but not in amusement. "Dad can smell bullshit a mile away, especially from you." He points out, not too kindly.

"You're right. We're just gonna have to tell dad the truth. Maybe Bobby, too." He concedes shrugging his shoulders as if he finds nothing wrong with the idea.

"That's it? Great…I'm done." Dean declares, making a sweeping gesture to the two djinn and his brother in front of him. "Come on, Cas.” He says grabbing Castiel by the wrist and tugging him closer. “Guess it's up to us to figure a way out of this fucktard situation.”

"Oh, dear Hajji above!" Balthazar exhales loudly walking over to Castiel and pointedly ignoring Dean. "Brother," He says halting Castiel's departure by laying a gentle hand on his arm to keep him in place and smirking cheekily when Dean bristles noticeably at the action. "Gabriel and I have everything covered. Trust us, please." His clear blue eyes seeking understanding in Castiel's azure gaze.

Castiel nods, the movement barely perceptible, and turns to look at his Master. "Dean?" He says, head tilt and slight squint in his eyes asking a silent question.

Dean looks steadily at Castiel nodding in return and turns to his brother. "Okay, Sammy, give us the blow by blow.

...

Their prepping and planning drags on until the early hours of the night, only stopping briefly to eat, (extremely well, thanks to Gabriel and his penchant for full banquets, complete with white gloved service) and quick runs to the bathroom. Those brief respites for Dean and Castiel also consisted of sneaking into any available empty room for a session of groping and making out that only served to leave them both more frustrated than when they started.

"So tell me again how you knew our timetable had been shortened?" Dean asks sounding more annoyed than he means to. “’Cause for your information, I only found out when dad stopped by earlier and enlightened me."

"Well Dean, unlike you, we’ve actually been working on coming up with a solution this whole time. And while Gabe and I were at the base yesterday, dad stopped by and told us about the change in the deadline. That’s why we recruited Balthazar to help us.” Sam explains offended that his brother even needed to ask. He places an errant lock of hair behind his ear and adds, "While you and Cas have been zapping away to 'bond',” He air quotes. “The rest of us have figured out a plan. This one." He fixes his brother with a mild look of disappointment, almost as if to say 'so there', and barely restrains himself from sticking his tongue out like he use to when they were little.

"Yeah, yeah, you’re awesome and I suck. Good for you." Dean says sarcastically, but at the hurt look on Sam's face, leans in closer and in a more repentant tone says, "Listen, I appreciate everything you've done, okay. It's just that, I wasn't only making sure Cas was kept safe from NASA." He pauses, reluctant to voice what he knows he needs to confess to his brother. "I needed to make sure I kept him safe from me, too."

"Dean." Sam says softly, expression full of sympathy and concern. "Dude, it's all gonna be alright. Cas is going to be fine. And the two of you are gonna make it work, and-"

"Yeah, I get that, Sam. We'll talk later, okay." Dean replies in a low hushed tone, trying to shut his brother and his raging feminine hormones down before they get out of control.

"Sure Dean. Because I'm here for you, bro. And Cas is here for you and tog-"

"Whew, I'm fried." Dean exhales loudly cutting Sam off by announcing his exhaustion to the group at large, and quickly moves to busy himself by perusing the report he and Gabriel had just finished writing. "And you know what, it's not gonna get any more comprehensive than this." He states pointing to the paperwork spread out across the coffee table.

Dean turns to look at his brother, smiles, gives him a quick wink, a silent thank you between them, and gets up. He stretches and twists, moaning in relief at the very satisfactory pops in his joints. "We're going up, and I seriously _pity the fool_ that tries to get us to come down before morning." He warns, not caring one iota that he just referenced Mr. T.

“Dude, watch it, your age is showing.” Sam laughs, all the tension from their previous exchange dissipated.

Dean glares at his little brother’s snarky comment, but then reluctantly nods in agreement. “The only thing that’s showing is my awesomeness, bro. But give me five minutes, and something even bigger will be on display.”

Now it’s Sam’s turn to glare. “Argh! Go, please. Cas, I’m begging you, take him.”

“Serves you right, Sammy.” Dean taunts pleased that he’s the cause for his brother’s scandalized reaction. He turns to the still seated djinni and extends his hand. "Cas." He says, using the djinni’s shortened name; the single syllable holding volumes of meaning between the two, and smiles knowing that his intent is clear.

In the next instant, he's humming contentedly, not only because he's laying comfortably on his bed, but also because he has a very horny Castiel straddling his lap.

_Having a djinni fucking rocks!_

…

"Hmph." Dean chuckles softly, adjusting Castiel into a more satisfying position over his hardening dick. "Hey there." He says in his sexiest, most come-hither voice, and pulls his djinni down for a scorching kiss.

They kiss, and kiss, and kiss. A tangle of tongues, hot and wet, deep and dirty, swallowing moans, biting and sucking lips, fucking each others mouths, eventually parting, breathless and panting. They look at each other, swollen red lips, lust blown irises, hair spiked from passionate fingers. They don't speak, at least not with their mouths.

Castiel moves first, stripping Dean of his layers. It's true that with just a blink of his eyes and a thought, Castiel can have his Master instantly naked beneath him. But tonight, he wants to use his hands. He wants to feel his Master's heated skin, the sensuous yielding flesh, revealed in small increments.

He takes his time undoing the buttons of Dean's plaid shirt, spreading it open to run his hands over the wide expanse of the astronaut's firm pectorals, tweaking the visibly erect nipples through the soft cotton. He pulls at the hem of Dean's henley and drags the fabric up slowly, exposing the beloved freckled skin underneath. Castiel leans over his Master and motions for him to raise his arms so that he can finally remove both shirts with a single tug.

He runs his hands up and down Dean’s sides, his strong fingers digging into the firm muscles, and works his way down and around the astronaut’s waist, pinching and pulling, greedy hands needing to feel all of him.

"Cas..." Dean sighs, biting at his lower lip when the djinni starts on his buckle.

Castiel feeds the belt through the buckle and using the tips of two fingers pulls the zipper down. He presses the flat of his palm firmly against Dean's denim clad erection, eliciting a long drawn out groan from his Master, and finally, to Dean’s great relief, grabs at the jean’s waistband to peel them off.

Every move every motion, cautious and calculated, measured to garner the most heightened reaction and to hint at the pleasure that is soon to follow.

Dean hoists his hips at Castiel's prompting and reaches out to grab at his shoulders. He wraps one hand around the djinni’s neck and snakes the other under the t-shirt’s low-cut neckline. "Take this off." He orders, his voice dark and tense. "You're not wearing anybody else's clothes but mine, capiche." He snarls.

"Capiche." Castiel agrees breathlessly and blinks the clothes he borrowed from Balthazar, away, leaving himself completely, deliciously naked.

"Fuck, baby!" Dean hisses bucking involuntarily when his dick wedges itself between the djinni's tight cleft, grunting when his cock catches on the edge of the djinni’s puckered rim. He bumps and grinds lewdly, rolling and pushing his hips up against the djinni's ass, the gesture filthy, pornographic.

Dean holds onto Castiel by the waist, fingers denting the supple flesh, dropping his hands to rest on his ass, licking his lips at the sight and feel of the djinni grinding on top of him. He moves his fingers over to the djinni's flat abs, thumbs tracing the outlines of his sinful hipbones, and cusses softly at the sight of Castiel's cock, thick and hard, slapping against his lean stomach. He reaches out and runs a gentle finger up the long length, rubbing a pearly drop of pre-cum with his thumb. "Fucking delicious." He swears after sucking the warm salty liquid off his digit.

"Mmm..." Castiel moans approvingly undulating sensuously in time with his Master's slow humping. He bends down, catching Dean's bottom lip between his teeth, nipping it playfully before slinking lower.

He crawls down the long length of Dean's body, mindful to pause and worship every mark, scar, and freckle on his journey down, stopping when he gets to the astronaut's dick, admiring its length and girth as it leans heavily from its nest of soft hair. Castiel blows a puff of heated breath against the shaft, bending his head to nuzzle and kiss the sensitive skin surrounding it, wanting to draw out the moment and give his Master the greatest amount of pleasure from this one gesture.

"Fuck, Cas…stop fucking teasing! Fuck..." Dean grunts noisily, demanding the djinni’s mouth on him _now_ , bowing his chest and slamming his head against a downy pillow.

"Yes, Master." Castiel purrs, placing a tender kiss on each thigh before opening wide and finally, _mercifully_ , sinking down, mouth hot, wet and tight, and not stopping until Dean's cock hits the back of his throat.

"Thank fuck...my fucking...lord!" Dean gasps, breath shuddering, thighs trembling. He's overwhelmed, on the edge, ready to spill thanks to his djinni's epic deep-throat skills. "Baby, so...good."

Castiel doesn't gag, but he does let his spit filled mouth coat Dean's dick liberally with saliva. He places his hands on the inside of his Master's thighs to spread them further; cock slipping out of his mouth with a sloppy slurp freeing him to bite and suck bruises on the tender flesh.

Dean hisses and jerks, his dick swaying, begging and pleading for Castiel’s mouth on him again, cursing when he feels the djinni smile against the ravaged skin. "Cas - !"

"Dean...” Castiel sighs in reply, smirking at Dean’s protests. He relents, however, and dives down again, hard sucking hollowing out his cheeks, feasting on his Master as if it were his life's mission. He grips the base and strokes Dean's spit slicked shaft with slow twists of his wrist while lapping hungrily at the flushed head; quickening his pace when he feels his lover's ass clench and his thighs stiffen, pulling away when he tastes the first spurt of cum hit his tongue.

"Fuck...Cas." Dean gasps, as the djinni strips his pulsing cock through his orgasm.

Castiel leans in, eyes black from arousal, grinning wickedly from the continuous splashes of semen hitting his face. He opens his mouth and rests the still spurting crown on the tip of his outstretched tongue tasting and drinking his Master, slacking his hold, slowing down, fist slippery and tacky from his mouth and Dean's cum. He gives the oversensitive head one last gentle kiss and climbs up his Master's thoroughly relaxed body.

Dean's arms and legs splay wide and open, boneless, pliable, putty now thanks to Castiel’s very talented mouth. "Jesus, Cas. That was fucking amazing." Dean can’t help but praise grabbing and pulling on the djinni until he has him resting on top of his chest; their sweat-slicked bodies slip sliding deliciously against each other. Dean lays still, reveling in the solid weight of his six-foot tall lover. His softening cock pressed under Castiel's belly, while the djinni's hard dick seeks friction between his thigh and groin. Dean sighs, heated breath mingling with Castiel's panting and reaches a shaky hand across the djinn's cum painted cheek. He smears the warm liquid with his thumb, tracing it across the djinni's cock swollen lips, and pushes it onto his already cum coated tongue.

"Mmmm...” The djinni hums happily.

Dean's eyes widen at the hot-as-hell sight. "Baby…please...fuck me." he croaks his sex-roughed voice a coarse whisper.

Castiel's eyes go darker at the command, one side of his lips curling in delight. He inserts two of his own fingers into his mouth and wets them thoroughly, pushing them in and out, the action provocative, dirty, making Dean's already light head, spin.

The djinni then moves to place his free hand under Dean's head, grabbing at the short hairs at the nape, raising it until their lips meet. He removes his fingers from his mouth and replaces them with Dean's tongue. He kisses his Master, open mouthed, sensuously, slowly, leaving him breathless while positioning his other hand between Dean's ass-cheeks; his saturated fingers rubbing against the astronaut's crease, the pads of one digit gently circling the tight ring of muscle, prodding and teasing for a long moment, before breaching it.

Dean moans loudly and thrusts his hips, pushing down and off, trying for deeper penetration, quickly begging for more.

"Shhh, Master." Castiel coos, and inserts a second digit, greatly gratified with his Master's very enthusiastic response. He pulses his fingers in and out, corkscrewing and scissoring, stretching and opening the tight hole, diligent and thorough with his ministrations. "Master, I...I don't want to hurt you. Please, let me use my magic. I could-"

"No!" Dean insists. "Don't you dare! I want...need to feel you. Come on, Cas..." Dean gasps. "Do it!" He orders.

Castiel replies by adding a third finger and latching onto his Master's shoulder with a brutal hold of his teeth; biting painfully, laving soothingly over the teeth marks, then kissing the bruised skin.

Dean hisses and writhes, eyes shut tightly and teeth bared, snarling; the unexpected stretch to his hole coupled with the vicious bite have his cock refilling rapidly. "Please, Cas, I...I need you." He's begging, pleading, not caring how he sounds but nonetheless afraid the djinni might refuse him. He doesn't let his fears stop him, though, he's opening up, literally and figuratively, allowing himself to believe and trust that Castiel would never leave him and might actually love him. _God, please let me have this._ _Please let him love me._ He opens his eyes inhaling sharply when he sees the djinni's blown wide pupils, almost black with lust and only a hint of their blue around the edges, focused sharply on him.

"I do, Dean." Castiel says softly, earnestly, answering Dean's silent prayer, leaning in once again to express his devotion with his mouth. The kiss is deep and passionate, but also hurried and aggressive, eager. Castiel pulls away and out, gets on his knees and positions himself between Dean's quivering thighs. When the astronaut bucks and pouts at the loss, the djinni holds him down by placing a firm hand on his hip. "Patience..." He says voice low and gruff, barely audible. He grips his cock and blinks, breath hitching when he gives it a few languid strokes to liberally spread the generous amount of lube that's now magically coating it. He bends forward, gets into position and with one final kiss to his gasping lover, presses his dick against the loosened muscle and pushes in.

They both moan at the penetration. Castiel braces himself on unsteady arms, catching his breath and waiting for his Master to adjust and relax, before pressing further. "Dean...I feel -”

"I know, baby. Argh!" Dean winces at the pain, taking deep breathes, willing his locked up muscles to ease and accept the sensation of being spread so brutally open. "Move!"

And Castiel does, gently easing his cock further in, inch by agonizing inch, until he's fully sheathed. He pauses, ready to use his powers to assuage the pain and instead bathe his Master in pleasure.

"Baby, move, please..." Dean exhales sharply with the request, spurring Castiel on with a provocative roll of his hips and hooking his ankles tightly around the djinni's narrow waist.

"Fuck!" Castiel growls, pulling out almost all the way before slamming back in with force. He wants to tear into Dean, fuck and rut and bury himself into the tight wet heat, but he holds back letting his Master set the pace.

The smooth slippery slide of the djinni’s cock, in and out and in and out, turns Dean's moans of discomfort into groans of pleasure. "Fuck...just like that..." He pants. "S'good, baby." He bites his bottom lip at the exquisite pain. He feels right, loved, full-on pleasure, from the fullness inside him. He cups Castiel's face, pulling it down for a taste of his lips, and yelps when the djinni's cock brushes his prostate. "The fuck! Ah..." He jerks at the overwhelming stimulation and begins to impale himself with greater force onto Castiel's cock, urging the djinni to plunge deeper and pound into him harder.

It's what Castiel's been waiting for, Dean's encouragement, his permission. He shivers, electricity racing up his spine from Dean's unwavering gaze. Heat coils in his groin from the sight of his Master's skin, pink and flushed, ready for the taking, to be marked on the inside just as he's already marked him on the outside.

With a quick snap of his hips, Castiel rams into his lover, accelerating his momentum, and fucking Dean with an intensity and urgency that parallels his desire to spill and fill his Master with a part of himself.

It's not common for a djinni to top, their seed too precious, magical and potentially dangerous, to impart on a non-magical being. But it's not a factor for Castiel. The only coherent thoughts swirling through his mind while he's with Dean are _love, fuck, possess, mark,_ and _mine,_ but not necessarily in that order.

"M - Master!" Castiel pants, eyes focused on Dean's pink hole stretched obscenely around his cock, wet and loosened, swallowing his dick greedily, begging to be filled, as it slides in and out. He looks up to Dean's face, heart pounding furiously, and leans in for a kiss, loving the taste of him. Using his free hand, he grips Dean's length and jerks him off in time with his hips.

"Cas..." Dean moans around a sharp intake of breath, eyes darkened and mouth slack, achingly close to his second climax from the combination of being fucked and his cock being stripped with furious strokes.

"Dean…" Castiel all but sighs, enthralled by the sight of the astronaut's darkened eyes, pink tinged cheeks and plush lips parted in ecstasy. He's on automatic, his body controlling his movements as he drives into his Master seeking for release. After a dozen more powerful thrusts, breath hitching and hips stuttering, his orgasm crests; eyes closed tight, teeth bared, jaw clenched, and cums. Castiel grunts out in pleasure, his long neck straining and corded as his dick pulses and empties.

He continues to steadily stroke Dean, rubbing at the crown lovingly with his thumb, fist slicked from the astronauts pre-cum, bringing Dean closer to his release. The djinni lowers his face, heated breath tickling Dean's cheek, breathing each other's air, and kisses him. He sucks on his Master's tongue, hot in his mouth, and moans when he feels Dean's rigid shaft jerk in his hand.

Dean's orgasm leaves him breathless, gasping, and thrusting erratically into Castiel's grip as the djinni milks him, toes curling and hands clenching desperately into their soiled sheets. "Oh, baby..." He groans, panting the words into his lover's mouth.

…

Dean's gotta piss like a racehorse but doesn't want to move, because even though his body feels achy and tired, he's also thoroughly content. It's got to be the best he's ever felt, really, waking wrapped in a tangle of his djinni's warm and heavy limbs.

He takes a moment to appreciate the man in his arms, beautiful face sleep-soft and worry free, and leans in to plant a tender kiss on his forehead. Dean chuckles softly at the sweet little noises the djinni makes and does his best not to wake him when he pulls away, carefully easing himself out of his tight hold.

The mouth-watering aroma of sizzling bacon stops Dean in his tracks once he's out of the bathroom. He inhales deeply and smacks his lips loudly grinning from ear to ear at the low rumble his empty stomach produces right on cue.

He walks back towards his bedroom, _our bedroom_ , he amends, knowing that from now on it will be the room they will share indefinitely. He opens the bedroom door, breath catching in his throat at the vision that greets him. On the bed, huddled under a mountain of blankets lays Castiel, eyes bright and questioning, cheeks pink and ruddy, lips soft, his smile bashful. Dean's heartbeat picks up; pounding heavily against his ribs, and takes a minute to calm himself down. Just looking at the djinni is enough to make him forget his past, focus and treasure the now, and to protect their possible future.

"Morning, sleeping beauty." Dean says quietly, reverently, not wanting to break the peace and significance of the moment.

"Good morning, Master." Castiel replies, just as hushed, but with a spark of mischief in his blue eyes.

When he sits up the blankets flood around his waist and Dean can't help but ogle at the djinni's erection, proud and tenting the sheets between his open legs. "Cas..." Dean says licking his lips lasciviously and palming his own growing bulge; eyes bugging out when the djinni pushes the sheets off and his cock, hard and flushed, springs up slapping enticingly against his stomach. "Swear to god, you're trying to kill me." He smirks, and with a running start, leaps ungainly onto the bed.

They grapple and wrestle, tussling and fighting for dominance, heated skin glistening from the fine film of sweat produced by their exertions.

"Yo, dudes! Daylight's a-wasting!" Sam calls out to them from the kitchen.

"Be down in ten, Sammy!" Dean yells back. "Ah, better make that twenty." He corrects when the djinni bends down over him, knees on either side if the astronaut's face, cock heavy and leaking and brushing against Dean's lips. "Fucking gorgeous." Dean huffs, breathing heavily and opens his mouth wide to accept his lover's length at the same time that Castiel, breath hot and damp over Dean's shaft, lowers his head to take Dean's dick in one smooth move.

They make fast work of their mutual blowjobs, grunting in satisfaction seconds apart as they spill down each others throats.

Allowing himself a moment to recuperate, Castiel rolls off his Master's prone form and blinks them into a vast spa-like pool where he proceeds to bathe Dean, pouring jasmine scented bath water over his reclined body.

"M'Cas? We gotta go…” Dean tries to protest

"Shhh, Master. They can wait a few minutes more." Castiel coddles as he meticulously rinses away the evidence from their latest sex-capades.

"M'kay." Dean agrees happily grabbing the djinni's hand to lay a tender kiss inside the wrist. "If you say so."

"I do." _Dearest one._ Castiel wants to add, but doesn't voice the endearment aloud. Instead, he restrains himself from placing terms of love on their still budding relationship, waiting for the right moment when he can follow Dean's lead to that inevitable conclusion. He's confident, too, that in a very short time, he will be allowed to be as expressive as he wishes with his feelings and desires for his beloved Master.

"Heh, me too Cas. A little mushy, but yeah, you're my dearest one too." Dean replies to the djinni's unsaid declaration, frowning in confusion at Castiel's look of inexplicable dread.

"Cas...?"

"Oh, Master."

...

"You have got to be shitting me!" Dean exclaims, half amused and half horrified with his current predicament. "I mean, it only happened the one time. I couldn't have gotten that big a dose." He utters sheepishly under his breath.

"Hmph." Gabriel snorts. "That's where you would be wrong, oh Captain. Djinni spunk is, well, for lack of a better word, magical. Even in small doses." He tells him, hand raised quieting Dean's protest.

"Wait a minute, why does this have to be a bad thing?" Sam asks, honestly curious at his brother's overly dramatic reaction and the three djinn's combined looks of horror, amusement, and disgust.

"Oh, you poor ignorant saps." Balthazar sneers at both Dean and Sam, at the end of his tether with their lack of understanding. He turns to his own brothers. "Please, give me a bloody clue, either of you." He challenges them, eyebrows raised. "As to why you would saddle yourselves with such an inept pair. Chosen One or not, Cassie, you certainly could have done better.”

"Balthazar." Castiel sneers, saying his brother's name with a distinct note of warning, low and dangerous.

The blonde djinni rolls his eyes, exasperated. "Fine, Cassie." And blinks.

"Ooh! Not a bad idea, brother." Gabriel says excitedly admiring the two very lovely, very nearly naked, women currently massaging, kneading, and stroking Balthazar as he reclines on a very plush mattress that is magically hovering, waist-high, in the Winchester living room.

"Don't even think about it, Gabe." Sam warns, large arms crossing over his even larger chest.

"Geesh, Sammy. I wasn't gonna, honest." The shorter djinni protests.

"Focus, Gabe. Why is it a bad thing for Dean to have a little bit of Cas' mojo?" Sam asks again, ignoring both Balthazar’s mocking and Gabriel’s pouting.

Castiel and Gabriel exchange a look that both Winchesters find hard to decipher. Is it uncertainty, anger, sorrow? The two djinn hold a silent conversation, as only close siblings can, nodding in acknowledgement before Castiel speaks. He looks over to his Master; lips narrowed in a straight line, then over to Sam.

"It’s not an entirely bad thing, Sam. The only reason for our reluctance to a human having our powers, even fractionally, is the possibility that we will lose them." At Sam's blank stare, Castiel elaborates. "Lose them to slavery. Dean is now marginally magical, and therefore under the laws of our people, and our lord, Hajji. And," he stresses, voice wavering. "If Hajji sees fit, he could assign him to his own Master."

"The fuck?" Dean says sharply. "You heard right, Dean-o. You would be forced to serve your own Master. And trust me, they're not all like you or Sam." Gabriel lowers his eyes, reflecting, remembering, before continuing. "Some even tend to be cruel." He says gravely.

Dean's heard enough. He's about to speak up, object, argue, but a deep thrumming growl emanating from Castiel stops him. "Cas?"

The djinni is looking at him, piercing blue gaze fixed on Dean's anxious green-eyed stare. "Dean will never belong to another. Anyone that tries to take him away from me will be eviscerated." He states plainly, calmly. "I will wipe them from existence and the world will weep from their cries." He growls, emotions breaking through, sounding murderous.

"Whoa, dramatic-much, bro?" Gabriel says sounding shocked at the extremes Castiel would take to protect Dean, but deep down, not at all surprised. "Just holster your weapon and think clearly for a sec, okay. No one's coming after your precious Master. The prophesy, remember?"

They break into a melee of voices, each speaking louder than the other, trying to get their arguments heard. The shouting goes on for several minutes, heated words tossed between all of them except one, Balthazar. The blonde djinni, now seated comfortably on a throne-like chair, gets their attention with a deafening blow to an enormous gong.

"Hate to interrupt, I really do, but as entertaining as your caterwauling is, I do believe we are running late for our meeting." He announces dryly, pointing to a large sundial he blinked into the room.

"Fuck, he's right, we're late!" Dean realizes switching gears and focus back on the reason they all originally gathered, to keep Castiel safe.

"Never fear, Gabriel's here." The djinni shouts at the top of his lungs, arms bent, balled up fists planted firmly on his hips, legs spread apart. He’s dressed in a bright red bodysuit, complete with cape, which along with his hair, whips comically in the room's absent breeze.

"Gabe!" Sam laughs, glad that at least the answer to one of their problems is standing right in front of them.

"Master!" Gabriel responds, delighted at Sam's amusement. "Shall we?" He asks, eyes sparkling and hand extended.

"Dean, don't worry. Stick to the plan and everything will be fine." Sam tells his brother disappearing once his fingers are laced with his djinni's.

“Easy for you to say!” Dean shouts at the empty spot his brother’s massive form had previously occupied. He turns to Castiel, walks up to him and wraps him in a crushing embrace. The djinni, nervous and refusing to respond, stands rigid, arms straight against his body; the only movement coming from his fidgeting hands. “Cas, we’ll get through this, I promise.” Dean whispers into his neck, lips brushing against the djinni’s cheek. He holds Castiel tightly, desperately trying to bleed reassurance into him through touch, only pulling away once he feels the djinni’s muscles relax and his body sag against his chest. “Better?” he asks smiling fondly and holding him at arm’s length.

“Better.” Castel says and returns Dean’s smile when he realizes he means it.

His heart swells with affection when his answer causes Dean to breakout in a full grin, all perfect white teeth and dancing eyes. He feels a lump in his throat, short of breath, because of this human, this man that has more power, more magical properties at his disposal than Castiel or any other djinni could ever hope to possess. At least over him. Only Dean Winchester has any real power over Castiel, any real hold. And, the djinni, coming to terms with this epiphany, wants nothing more than for his Master to know. He wants to shout out how much he loves him. How he was made to love him, to be his, and, how seriously Castiel takes his post.

“You okay, Cas?” Dean prods, voice laced with concern. “Looked like you were somewhere else, man.”

“My apologies, Master.” Castiel says instead and reaches out to twine his fingers with Dean’s.

“Good.” Dean nods, but not convinced reaches out with his mind to tap into their link and try to glean what the djinni might be keeping from him.

_I Love you, Dean._

Dean almost staggers at the words. But it’s not what they imply, necessarily, but the weight of utter adoration and _truth_ behind them that has him weak at the knees.

He takes a shaky breath, struggling internally for the self-control and willpower to stop the overwhelming urge to put their trip to NASA on hold. He wants to take a moment and wrap Castiel in the fold of his arms, to whisper the same words back into his skin, pressing his lips against the djinni’s luscious flesh to murmur, over and over again, his devotion until there isn’t an inch on his body that Dean hasn’t worshiped.

_Focus._

Dean lowers his head and takes a step back, fingers still clasped with Castiel’s. He takes one, two, deep breaths before saying, “Now you hang out here for a bit while we go take care of this, okay?” Still holding onto the djinni, he turns to address Balthazar. “Ready when you are.”

“What? No, Master, I’m coming too.” Castiel insists, brow furrowed, full bottom lip pouting.

“Come on, Cas, don’t do this. You know I don’t want you anywhere near that place. Just, please, stay here until we get back.” Dean pleads.

“Please, Cassie, don’t be so clingy. Desperate does not suit you.” Balthazar tuts. He blinks his throne away and marches up to the pair. “Now, the human’s right, as shocking as that may seem. So, please, stay here and I promise you that I will do my very best to look after him. Toodles!” He waves and before Castiel has a chance to offer any more arguments, grabs Dean by the shoulder and blinks them away, leaving Castiel and his protestations behind.


	9. Everything he Wants, is...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From the moment he laid eyes on him, John Winchester did not like the blonde man. Was it the way he held himself and spoke, oozing cockiness? Or, maybe it was the way he glared at Dean when his son wasn't looking, that put him on alert as to what Balthazar's role might be in all of this. But regardless of all that, in the end it comes down to the way Balthazar so obviously enjoys the heightened stress of both his boys that decides for the General not to trust a single word he utters.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again for reading! Hope you all enjoy this latest installment!

"The fuck kind of landing was that?" Dean snaps at Balthazar, furious and certain the djinni blinked him deliberately into the middle of the large fountain just outside of NASA's headquarters, while blinking himself, safely, onto the dry lawn.

"Oh my, that was unfortunate." The djinni says sorrowfully, feigning true concern. "Must have misjudged the coordinates." He explains lips curling in a half smirk he doesn’t try to hide.

Dean splashes and flails in the waist high water. "Gonna fucking choke you, you dick." He sputters and falls back, crying out in alarm when he finds himself actually choking the blonde djinni, his fingers digging mercilessly into the neck's fragile skin.

A shrill wolf-whistle and the impact of an invisible fist to the side of his face, snaps him out of his shock.

"Let go of my brother!" Gabriel yells, suddenly appearing next to them. He bends down to pull Balthazar up and grunts in frustration when he realizes that no matter how hard he tries, physically or magically, he can't budge his brother out of Dean's hold.

"Dean, stop!" Sam yells.

"I...I can't Sam!" Dean stutters. His efforts to let go futile, only making matters worse because the more strength he uses to unclasp his hands, the tighter his fingers grip and the deeper they dig.

Sam jumps into the fray, long legs sloshing gracelessly through the water, and grabs at his brother using his superior size to out-muscle his grip from Balthazar who, without oxygen, is turning an alarming shade of blue. He pulls and pushes, using his colossal strength to pry Dean's fingers apart, but to no avail. "Dean!" Sam barks. " _Wish_ to release Balthazar! Do it!"

Dean obeys immediately, not questioning the insanity or significance of Sam's order. He closes his eyes and silently makes his wish.

"Bal!" Gabriel shouts and rushes to lift Balthazar's thrashing body from the water. He quickly blinks himself, Sam and a wheezing Balthazar onto land and into dry clothes.

"Gabe, please help Dean." Sam asks panting heavily.

"He can do it himself." Gabriel spits out, shocking himself and Sam with his disobedience. "Master, my apologies." He says, all venom gone from his tone. He lowers his head and blinks Dean out of the fountain, placing him several feet away from them.

Dean's head is spinning, he bends over, head hanging loosely between his legs and taking deep breaths, wills his frenzied mind to still and focus. He looks up at the sound of Sam's voice, and straightens to make his way over to the stunned group.

He stops just short of where Gabriel is kneeling with Balthazar cradled in his arms. "I don't know what happened. He...zapped me in the fountain, and I don‘t know, I just snapped. I'm sorry." He apologizes to Balthazar.

"Fuck off!" Balthazar croaks, voice gruff, sandpaper rough from the choke. He swallows thickly, wincing from the pain and blinks. "Gabriel!" He rasps, flinching from his injury, clutching at his brother with desperate hands. "I -" He has to swallow again needing urgently to moisten and sooth his sore throat. "...can't undo his bloody magic!"

Gabriel blinks and blinks, willing his millennia old magic to set his brother right, gaping in shocked silence when his magic falls flat, useless, and feeble against Dean's more powerful spell. The djinni glares at him, amber eyes aflame with rage. "Fix him, now." Gabriel says voice cold and dangerous.

Sam gets up and stares warily at the scene before him. He needs to act fast if he wants to prevent someone from getting seriously hurt, or possibly killed. Brow furrowed in concentration, he scrutinizes the chain of events that led them all to this amazing discovery: that thanks to Castiel's super-charged magically infused semen, Dean is as powerful and possibly more dangerous than any of the djinn.

He moves towards his brother reaching out with a tentative hand and lays it gently on his sloped shoulder. "Dean, make Balthazar better. Take away his pain." He says softly treating Dean as if he were a ticking time bomb, worried that any sudden noise or move might startle and provoke him.

Dean looks to his brother, eyes glassy and scared. "I couldn't...I-" He lowers his head and exhales a shaky breath. He wants to protest, to tell them that he isn't the one responsible, not at all magical, but he doesn't. He quickly comes to the same conclusion as Sam, that he is dangerous, and instead admits his guilt. "How, Sam?"

"You know how, you dick!" Gabriel seethes.

"Gabe, quiet!" Sam says grim faced and serious, patience for his rebellious djinni, worn thin.

Dean stares at them, eyes wide and full of questions. He makes eye contact with Balthazar, holds his gaze, and blinks.

All four men cry out from the deafening bong that resounds from the magic Dean projects towards the injured djinni. They clasp their hands against their ears to muffle the noise and echoes that have startled birds in the neighboring trees to take flight. When they look up, they see a steady stream of people exiting their office building all looking around in vain for the source of the loud noise.

A small group breaks from the pack and runs towards them, in the lead, the General.

...

"This is not good." Sam frowns, stating the obvious. He spins around to block his brother from the oncoming throng. "Dean, quick, get into your uniform!" He hisses, nodding his head in an exaggerated manner and blinking profusely demonstrating how to do it.

Understanding immediately, Dean blinks out of his soaked clothes and into his pristine Captain's uniform, hair combed with a sharp part to the side, and smiles reluctantly at Sam's relief.

"What the hell’s going on?" General Winchester asks the group but looking at Dean.

"Reporting as ordered, Sir." Dean answers saluting and stepping around his giant brother's stiff figure to face his father.

John eyes him skeptically, unsure whether he wants to drill the truth from his son now, or later. He snorts in irritation, deciding that later, away from so many prying eyes and ears. Now, however, he says, "Then what are you waiting for? Get inside, all of you." He orders and turns, walking back towards the building.

Sam and Dean, exchange nervous looks, while Gabriel and Balthazar shrug. All four, with Dean in the lead, follow behind the General, almost at a jog in order to keep up with his brisk pace.

...

The men look straight ahead, eyes trained on the building's entrance, purposefully ignoring the stares from the large assortment of astronauts and office employees that have gathered out front.

"Yo, Dean?" They hear Jo call from their periphery.

They don't turn or acknowledge her, choosing instead to get inside and out of sight as quickly as possible. They'll handle her and the rest of their friends' questions, _because there's no way any of this_ _has gone unnoticed,_ later.

They head, much to Dean's surprise, straight to the hanger and not to his father's office where he assumed he and his brother would present their findings. They walk, single file, through the spacious room where they can still see the ruined remnants of the shuttle laid out piece by scorched piece in meticulous order, each labeled and tagged with its own description and number.

They finally stop, standing shoulder to shoulder, in front of a large workstation where Charlie and Benny hunch over the charts and data they're currently studying from the accident.

"Bradbury!" The General says gruffly, startling the engineer.

"Sir, sorry Sir. Didn't see you come in." She apologizes, nudging her partner to also straighten and salute.

"At ease. Lafitte, get Colonel Singer here, on the double. Charlie, go to my office and tell my secretary to give you all the files that pertain to this mission."

After both officers have jogged off, he turns and addresses Dean. "Captain, who the hell is this man and why is he in my hanger?" He asks, gesturing with his thumb towards the now completely healed djinni.

"Sir, this is, ah, Balthazar. He's the man that took care of my injuries after the crash. Lieutenant Winchester and Lieutenant Novak have all of his information and a detailed timeline of the events from take-off to crash to the rescue from the island in the report, Sir." Dean rushes out, nodding his head towards his brother and Gabriel.

The General looks at Dean, eyes narrowed scanning his son's face for any sign that will contradict what he's just been told. After what seems like an eternity to both Winchester boys, he clears his throat, and apparently satisfied with the Captain's response, turns his attention to Balthazar. "Mr. Balthazar, is it?" He asks the blonde djinni, voice tinged with skepticism.

"Yes, sir, his name as well as all of his infor-" Sam jumps in but is cut short before he has a chance to offer their fabricated history on Balthazar to the General.

"I wasn’t addressing you, Lieutenant." John says coldly to his youngest son. It's not that he means to embarrass or berate either of his son's in front of others, but being the top ranking officer in the base requires that he set an example and make sure that the rules and protocol he put in place are strictly enforced.

His gruff demeanor and hard-as-nails persona derived from years of hard work and heroic acts earned him his rank and the die-hard dedication of his men. He's professional and strict, but also intelligent with great instincts. And right now, his instincts are tingling, warning him that something is seriously off with all four men.

Truth be told, ever since his last visit with Dean, he's suspected that his sons were brewing something. The whole exchange unsettled him. Their reactions were contrary to the way they usually acted, to the way he raised them to be: sure, confident, strong men without an ounce if indecision between them.

Dean’s fidgeting and anxious behavior when he introduced him to his war buddy Castiel, and Sam stammering through his reasons for enlisting Gabriel's help for the report, were disturbing enough on their own, but even more alarming when combined with Gabriel's uncharacteristic quiet and reserved manner.

_Gabriel, quiet? Reserved?_

No, he's convinced they're keeping something from him and will make sure he gets the truth out of them, even if it means ordering Bobby to administer truth serum. Okay, maybe he won't go to those extremes, but he's certain he won't rest until he's satisfied with their answers.

"You were saying, Mr. Balthazar." The General leads the djinni.

"Actually, I wasn't." Balthazar answers easily, relaxed and enjoying the noose their very clever father is winding tightly around the Winchester boys' arrogant necks. Taking a deep and very gratifying breath of the air that's thick and tense all around them, he sighs contentedly and decides to play along. _For_ _Cassie’s sake_ , he tells himself. "But yes, as the Captain and Lieutenant already pointed out, my name is Mr. Balthazar." He replies, unable to stop the quirk of his lips at the hilarious moniker. "And everything else you might want to know about me is also in their report, ah, Sir."

From the moment he laid eyes on him, John Winchester did not like the blonde man. Was it the way he held himself and spoke, oozing cockiness? Or, maybe it was the way he glared at Dean when his son wasn't looking, that put him on alert as to what Balthazar's role might be in all of this. But regardless of all that, in the end it comes down to the way Balthazar so obviously enjoys the heightened stress of both his boys that decides for the General, not to trust a single word he utters.

John doesn't like tricks, and he certainly doesn't like to be lied to, but he has unwavering trust in his sons, and believes that sooner rather than later they will come clean with the real story.

He's exhausted and irritable, impatient to get to the point where they can put this whole farce behind them and get on with their lives. He's sure, that just like him, Dean and Sam are eager to put their energies and focus back on their shared passion: missions into space, unfettered by inquiries and suffocating red tape. That's if he doesn't court martial then first.

So, he holds his tongue and waits for Booby before he starts his interrogation.

...

"Who the hell did you say he is?" Bobby asks the group in general, eyebrow cocked. When no one replies immediately, he points to Sam. "Well, Lieutenant?"

Sam steps forward and hands the Colonel the report he's been clutching this entire time. "Mr. Balthazar, the man that was responsible for Dean's survival and sole witness to the crash. It's all right here in the report, Sir." He states firmly, back ramrod straight eyes focused past Bobby's shoulder, showing the Colonel the respect his rank grants him, but also the awe in which Sam holds him.

"Humph." Bobby snorts, flipping casually through the folder. "And why are we meeting here instead of in an office?" He asks the General. "This still confidential, or has the status been changed?"

"No, the status is the same. But when Sam told me this file has all the answers, I decided to hold the interview here so that they could walk us through it, step by step." John explains to his friend while giving the other four men a stern challenging glare. He's hoping they'll trip up and give themselves away before he has to call them on their lie.

"Oh, yes, of course, after you." The Colonel agrees gesturing with a sweep of his hand for the General to proceed. He knows his long time friend is after something, but not sure yet what it might be. Nonetheless, he goes along with the act and follows the scenario that John has laid out.

Hours later, all six men, Charlie and Benny already dismissed early on, are still hovering over a particularly mangled piece of the ship's fuselage. John and Bobby look anything but convinced. Sam and Gabriel, sheepish and nervous. Dean wiping his brow, pale and nauseous. Balthazar, bored.

Dean hates lying to his father. It's made all the worse because he knows his father isn't buying what they're selling. John Winchester is too smart and knows them too well. He therefore reaches out and puts his hand on Sam's shoulder, interrupting his brother's latest attempt at an answer to the General's latest question.

"Dean?" Sam asks, eyes widening in understanding when he realizes what his brother's about to do.

"Sirs, there are a few things we neglected to add to the report." Dean confesses.

...

He had no choice, not really, because even after Dean _truthfully_ explained what happened -with some serious editing of course- both John and Bobby refused to accept what they heard and instead debated if institutionalization would be the best course of action for all men involved.

So it came as no real surprise when Dean turned to Gabriel and asked if he would blink them all onto the island and prove their case, once and for all.

The djinni smirked at the request and was about to protest, to tell Dean to do it himself, when a sharp nudge to his shoulder, from Sam, made him rethink his obstinance and grant the Captain's wish.

Literally in the blink of an eye, Gabriel's eyes to be exact, they go from the hanger, brightly lit with floodlights mounted on its rafters, to blinding sunshine and clear blue skies on the mysterious island of Castiel's exile.

Dean and Sam land without comment or any outwardly reaction, already used to the sharp drop in their stomachs and sudden jolt to the system from their frequent metaphysical flights with the djinn. The General and Colonel's reaction, on the other hand, is a different story.

John and Bobby stagger, only keeping their balance when both Dean and Sam rush forward to right them and not letting go until sure they’re steady on their own feet.

John pulls away from Sam’s hold taking slow tentative steps in a circle to scan the scenery, before speaking. "This...this is real? And you are?" He points towards Gabriel and Balthazar. "What did you call it?"

"Not it, General, who. We are djinn, Sir." Gabriel answers helpfully. He finds that in the greater scheme of things this whole fiasco is ludicrous and tiresome. He's therefore not particularly worried for Castiel anymore, sure that John will be just as accepting of his kind as Dean and Sam. What he is afraid of, however, is the possibility that the General, or even the Colonel, might decide to dismiss him, kick him out of NASA and separate him from his Master. He’s therefore back in full soldier mode, ensuring his position and proving himself indispensable.

"Djinn? Great, just great." Bobby shakes his head in disbelief. But he can't deny the boys' story anymore, the proof is all around him. He looks over at Dean and Sam, brow creased, angry frown visible through his beard, and asks, "And just what in the hell did you idjits expect us to do with this information, huh? Am I supposed to write in my report that there are magical beings out there? That the supernatural is real?" He argues.

Sam and Dean share a look and after a short pause, nod in agreement. "Well, Sir, Bobby," Sam says, using his uncle's first name to express the emotional magnitude of what they hope to accomplish. "We, Dean and I, and Gabriel too, we're hoping that the real story, the truth about Castiel and Gabriel and the existence of the djinn, could be kept between all of us." He looks over to his brother and continues when he gets an encouraging wink. "Dad, we could hand in the report as is, no one would dare to dispute it if it has your and Bobby's signatures on it."

"You want me to falsify documents? To hand in fraudulent information to the government? You're talking treason, Sam." He counters, voice hoarse and gaze fierce, disappointed at his son's suggestion. But he's a father first, and a damn good one too, so regardless of the implications (of a possible dishonorable discharge, disgrace, stripping of rank) he sides with his sons, deciding that their safety and well-being is what matters to him most.

So taking a deep steadying breath, he says the words Sam and Dean have been hoping to hear. "Fine, we'll sign it." He announces, making the decision for both himself and the Colonel. Then, holding up his hand, adds. "But I have two conditions: one, I want to meet this Castiel person, I mean, djinni, right?" He asks Gabriel who nods back in assent, relieved with the way the day's events have unfolded.

"Right, good, I want him here. I want to meet the man that saved my boy. Now." He orders.

"Yes, dad." Dean replies and raising his head to the heavens, calls for his djinni.

"Hello, Dean."

...

"Cas, hi." Dean says, hoping the slight tremor in his voice goes unnoticed. He feels heat rush up his cheeks the moment Castiel appears, marveling how the djinni's eyes become turquoise against the sea's myriad blues. "You remember my father, the General, right? He wanted to meet you, again."

When wary silence is the only response the djinni gives him, and wanting to forgo a lengthy explanation as to why he was summoned, Dean says, "Go ahead, Cas, search my mind, it's okay."

Without hesitation, Castiel joins with Dean’s mind, eyes widening in understanding, large smile replacing his usual stoic mask. "He knows the truth about me?" He voices the revelation with awe. "That is very gratifying. Thank you, Master."

"It's Dean, okay." He whispers, lips barely moving. "At least around other people." He quietly adds, making sure Castiel understands that he doesn't mind when the djinni calls him Master, _especially in_ _the bedroom._

They break eye contact when all at once several throats are cleared loudly, reminding them they’re not alone.

"Castiel." The General says voice clear and steady. He walks over to the still cautious djinni noticing how his fingertips press deliberately against his oldest son's. John's step falters, but immediately continues, smiling when the true meaning behind their relationship becomes clear. He stops two feet away from the couple and extends his hand. "Thank you for saving my son."

Dean gapes at the gesture, more than a little taken aback by his father’s behavior, because, as far as he knows, John Winchester has never been accused of being overly gracious or thankful. It's yet another reminder of how his world's been turned upside down and how his djinni has turned him inside out. He snaps his mouth shut and nudges Castiel to take the offered hand.

John holds Castiel's hand longer than necessary, gratified that the grip is confident and strong. His eyes widen in awe as a low hum, like an electric current, buzzes through him at their connection, knowing that it's only a small indication of the powerhouse that, from now on, will look after Dean.

He steps closer to the djinni, closing the distance, and shares a few private words. When he lets go, he clasps and squeezes Castiel’s shoulder in another uncharacteristic gesture of reassurance and gratitude.

Smiling warmly, John steps back and walks away, taking with him the tight ball of tension that both his sons have been carrying in their guts for the last twenty-four hours.

"General Winchester, you are most definitely welcome." Castiel nods, silently accepting John’s second condition before turning and giving his Master a small happy smile.

Now it's Bobby's turn to meet Castiel. He trudges up to him on unsteady legs, still visibly shaken from their 'flight' and from everything the boys revealed to him earlier, feet sinking and shoes filling with sand. He sizes up the djinni and apparently satisfied with what he sees, grunts his approval. "Yeah, nice to meetcha. So you're the one that saved that idjit." He grumbles jabbing his thumb in Dean's direction."And the reason we've all been transported here." It's not a question, he wants to hear the confirmation from the djinni's mouth.

“Yes.” Castiel nods, once, sure and firm, his blue eyes never wavering, meeting and holding Bobby's critical stare until the Colonel, snorts in agreement and releases him.

"Now, how about you blink us all the hell out of here." Bobby tells the djinni, shocking everyone when he claps him, gruffly but good-naturedly, on the shoulder.

...

In the end, all it really took to satisfy the higher powers at NASA was a document signed by the General stating that after a thorough investigation the cause for the crash was the disintegration of a main solar panel and definitely not because of pilot error.

The length of the recordings were, thanks to Gabriel, magically whittled down to a more realistic forty-eight hours therefore making Dean's miraculous good health after being missing for so little time, entirely reasonable.

Balthazar officially came forward to state that he was the man behind the mysterious second voice and that the first thing he did when he found the unconscious astronaut was to contact the base and give the rescue team their coordinates.

The report also stateed that Captain Winchester was sequestered for twelve days immediately after his rescue, during which time he received medical and psychological attention as well as being debriefed and questioned extensively in regards to the failure of the mission.

The secrecy behind the crash and the reasons for the staged rescue were to remain classified and sealed, much to Charlie and Benny's chagrin. The two engineers found the whole story preposterous and made a pact to bide their time, and that when the opportunity presented itself, they would pin down either Sam or Dean, even Gabriel if it came down to it, and finally learn the truth.

A small conference was held a week after John turned in his report. The media was present and allowed to ask questions as well as to take pictures of Dean, who, to his great embarrassment, was lauded and labeled as a true American hero by the press.

...

Months passed and life returned to normal, or as close as it was going to, given the circumstances, for the Winchester men.

Dean and Castiel settled into a kind domesticity that brought with it an overwhelming sense of peace and security that up until that point had eluded the astronaut and forever seemed out of his reach.

Unfortunately, Dean still struggled occasionally with bouts of crippling insecurity, unwilling to accept Castiel's insistence that he stayed with him of his own free will and not because of duty. During these times, Castiel would tread lightly, walking on eggshells lest he slip up and be banished from Dean’s side, again.

But they continued to love each other fiercely, even if they didn’t voice it, feeling it course through their bond regardless of their emotional constipation.

The physicality of their relationship evolved as well. No longer just the obvious outlet for satisfying their sexual appetites and gratifying release, but also as a buffer against insecurities and a way to communicate with their bodies what they're feeling in their hearts; the palpable and insatiable attraction for one another continues to grow and they feed the beast, frequently, with untiring gusto and fervor.

...

As soon as everything settled down, Sam moved out; the moaning and wailing from his two roommates at all hours hastening his departure.

It came as no surprise to everyone when he moved into Gabriel's spacious loft on the trendier side if town. The couple, open and honest about their relationship with their family and friends, were discreet and professional at work.

To say Gabriel was happy because his Master finally moved in with him was putting it mildly. He took great care in redecorating his home, taking Sam's above average size and powerful frame into consideration. He used his powers to make the already large space, bigger: opening and widening walls, creating floor to ceiling windows, raising the ceilings, adding a spa, a gym, and a toy room, much to Sam’s delight.

And soon after, Dean, Sam and Gabriel returned to their duties, each immediately putting in their own application when the next scheduled mission was announced.

…

"You're rejecting my application?" Dean asks his father, dumbstruck. "Sir, the Colonel gave me the all clear. Why-"

"Sam and Gabriel too. Here, you can hand these back to them when you see them, save me the trouble." John says picking up the three files from his large desk and holding them out for his son to take. "Dismissed." He tells Dean, effectively ending their meeting and cutting off any more protests from the young astronaut.

"Yes, Sir." Dean replies through clenched teeth. He salutes the General and turns to leave.

"Oh, and Dean." John calls out just as Dean's turning the knob. "I want you, your brother, Gabriel and Castiel to be at Bobby's house tonight. Eight pm sharp. Spread the word." He tells him and goes back to his paperwork without waiting for a reply.

...

"Doesn't make sense. I can understand dad not letting me or Gabe go, but you?" Sam questions, just as confused by the General's decision as Dean is. "Dude, you're still the most qualified."

"Yeah, well, guess maybe not as much as you or the press seems to think." Dean grumbles inching his body closer to the djinni sitting comfortably next to him, immediately relaxing from the contact.

As soon as he had left the General's office, he called his brother and alerted him to everything that had just happened. Twenty minutes later he and Castiel were joined by Sam and Gabriel to discuss the unexpected turn of events and to figure out why they had been passed over.

"Seems like we're going around in circles, boys. I say we go to the Colonel's tonight and ask the General point blank." Gabriel suggests when they're no closer to understanding John's peculiar actions.

Since their return from the island the General started spending more 'quality' time with Sam and Dean, trying to make up for past absences and taking a softer approach towards his boys. He became more communicative, more expressive, opening up about the heartache that still clung to him twenty years after the death of their mother. They were wary at first not sure what was expected of them or how to act around their former taskmaster.

John Winchester had always been a formidable presence, but after Mary's death, he approached the rearing of his sons with a steadfast determination, always striving to raise strong fearless independent men that could withstand and plow through the trauma and heartache of losing their mother. But his dismissive and indifferent attitude of the last few days, eerily reminiscent of the first harsh and demanding years after their mother died, has them worrying that their father's candor has reopened his old wounds and that this time his grief would swallow him up for good.

"Hmph, good luck with that Gabe. Wait, have you met our dad?" Sam snorts at the djinni's suggestion, shaking off the feeling of dread that has been simmering just below the surface since his brother’s call.

"Yeah Gabe, where you been?" Dean chuckles and snakes his arm around Castiel's trim waist, pulling the djinni even closer to his side. Despite his father's bizarre mood swings, he feels good, great in fact. He and his djinni are together and happy. His father and Bobby pulled off the cover-up of the century, and even embraced his relationship with Castiel.

Dean's even accepted Sam and Gabriel's odd pairing, happy that his brother and his friend share the same profound bond that he and Castiel do; all of their mutual animosity forgotten and forgiven especially in light of the fact that their lives, already entwined professionally, will now also be, intimately.

"One thing’s for sure, dad's never been big on the whole caring-and-sharing thing. You must have gotten that from mom, Sammy.” Dean points out and smiles at the eye-roll that his teasing provokes from his baby brother. Not missing a beat, he continues. “But this makes no sense. Seriously, why bother training a newb-"

"Ah, Dean," Sam interrupts. "I heard the guy that dad recruited graduated with top honors from Johnson Space Center. Best pilot to come out of there since, well, since you."

"Thanks for the update, Sam." Dean mutters and starts to fidget, calming the instant Castiel lays a hand on his thigh and gently massages the tension out of the rock hard muscle. He moans and slumps against the djinni letting the warmth radiating from his welcoming body relax him further. "Still," He continues voice soft, volume lowered. "School can't replace real life experience. Nah, it's not good enough. There’s gotta be another reason dad chose that hot shot."

"Right." Sam agrees stifling a laugh at how hopelessly whipped his brother is. "Anyway, we'll know soon enough." He tells them getting up and pointing to his watch. "You wanna ride?" He asks Dean and Castiel, scrunching his face at their indiscreet nuzzling. "Maybe we'll just meet you there. Gabe, let's go." He walks over to where his djinni sits, lifts him by the arm and steers him out the door.

...

"God, I thought they'd never leave." Dean mumbles against Castiel's neck, pressing warm damp kisses against the quickening pulse.

"Dean..." Castiel moans, reluctantly pulling out of his Master's embrace. "We will not be late." He warns looking up at Dean through heavy lidded eyes.

"But I'm horny!" Dean whines and pouts, his plump bottom lip tempting Castiel to relent and let him have his way.

"No Dean, not today." Castiel states with finality. _Today I want to be the perfect son-in-law._ He gulps in air and swallows thickly at the thought. The idea of marrying his darling Master makes his breath hitch and his heartbeat thump heavily in the confines of his tightening chest.

"Baby, you alright? What’s on your mind?" Dean studies him and focuses all of his considerable power to read his mind and find the cause for his distress.

"Master? It was nothing, I'm just worried we'll be late and your father will be upset with me." Castiel half-lies.

"Humph, you sure? ‘Cause I got a feeling you’re not telling me everything." He closes his eyes and lays his open palm on the djinni's soft dark hair. "Why the fuck is it so difficult to read your thoughts, sometimes?" He complains jerking his hand away frustrated that his powers are limitless, except when it comes to the being that gave them to him in the first place.

"Dean, all my thoughts revolve around you." Castiel tells him, words meant to soothe along with the small kiss he leans over to place on his Master's lips. "You know this is true. You can feel it, you said so yourself, even if you can't read my mind."

Another kiss, this one lasting longer. "I too no longer have free reign over your mind, unless you wish it. But I don't fear, because I can sense what you’re feeling here." He elaborates placing his hand against Dean's chest, thrilling that he's the cause for its jackrabbit beat.

This time the kiss is hungrier more desperate and lasts so long they both almost forget what they were discussing. They rest their foreheads together, inhaling each others gasps. "Whatever you’re feeling, I feel it too, it's what beats in my heart." Castiel gives him one last quick peck, and blinks himself out of arms reach. "Now, please get up because I don’t want to be late." He orders, the dry rasp of his voice from kissing and his flushed cheeks, do nothing to curb Dean's rush of want or calm his hardening cock.

Dean rubs his face aggressively clearing his head and drawing the blood-flow away from his very disgruntled dick.

He exhales sharply, stands up quickly, and blinks himself flush against Castiel. "Fine, you win, for now." He circles his arms tightly around the djinni's body and whispers in his ear. "No matter what goes down tonight, this here, what we have, that doesn't change. You got it." He tells him, the fierceness in his tone, the desperation in his grip, and the urgency of his kisses, proving his commitment. "Fuck, Cas, what you do to me."

“Me too, Master." Castiel pants, overcome and overwhelmed with Dean's declarations; all hope of being on time to Bobby's gone, but not lamented.

Dean pulls back, his body immediately complaining over the separation, even if it’s only by mere inches. “Cas, I, um…” he stammers nervously, lowering his eyes and licking his lips.

“Yes, Dean?” Castiel prods looking on with wide nervous eyes.

Dean tries again. “There’s, ah, something I’ve wanted to ask you for a while now, and I’m, ah…” he swallows thickly. “Well, I kinda got the feeling that maybe what I want might be the same thing that, ah, you might want, and,” He chews his lower lip. “And just now you said that you know how I feel and well, I guess what I’m trying to say is –“

“Master, what _are_ you trying to say?” Castiel asks now even more nervous from Dean’s suspicious behavior; tightly coiled tension wraps itself around his chest, making it difficult for him to breath.

Panic settles over his heart and he can’t help but dread that his Master might be trying to end their relationship, again, because of Castiel’s stifling neediness and urges, especially those unvoiced.

“It’s alright, Master.” The djinni speaks on, completely misinterpreting Dean’s trepidation. “You don’t need to say it. Please, don’t.” he begs choking back a sob.

“Wait, what?” Dean asks, totally thrown of track by Castiel’s odd comment but even more perplexed by his distress. He takes his distraught djinni by the chin and tilts his face up, blue eyes blinking back tears. “Cas, what happened? What did I do?”

“Not you, me! I’m sorry, Master. It’s all my fault. I shouldn’t have been so pushy, so demanding. I shouldn’t have forced my needs on you, I-“ Dean’s not sure what set the djinni off, but he knows the best way to calm Castiel down has always been with a kiss.

So he kisses him.

The kisses are soft, tender and wet; Castiel’s free flowing tears running down his face are swallowed up greedily by their joined mouths, the sweet-salty taste making Dean want to soothe and protect the sobbing djinni.

Dean uses his lips to ease his lover’s anxiety; kissing _love_ into Castiel’s open mouth, _devotion_ onto his cheek, _want_ against his jaw, and _need_ on the soft warm skin behind his ear. He uses his hands to knead the tension out of the djinni’s rigid shoulders, working the firm muscles until they loosen and relax.

Calm again, Dean focuses his attention back to the djinni’s lips, kissing him deeply and grinning when he feels Castiel hum contentedly. He sweeps his lips across Castiel's cheek, _stubble burn be damned,_ and continues to kiss him until the entirety of the djinni’s face has been tasted, basking in the warmth radiating between them.

_Do it now._

Knowing it’s the right time, _well, as right as it’s going to get,_ he reasons, Dean steels himself for what he’s about to do next. It’s what he’s wanted for too long now to put off any longer.

Grabbing onto Castiel’s left hand, he stops kissing his face in favor of the djinni’s fingers, eliciting a shocked gasp from Castiel when he brings them up to eye level.

_A golden ring_

The gold band is wide and thick with finely carved symbols etched in the djinn's ancient language. "Devotion, fealty and love." Castiel reads. "Dean?" he says, low and hushed, eyes widening in understanding when he sees Dean get down on one knee.

"Castiel, will you marry me?"


	10. Love is a Many Splendored Thing, Even When You Argue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He’s sure this was the right time to ask, feels it bone deep in its rightness. He had bided his time, eager and itching to ‘pop the question’ ever since introducing the djinni to his father. “Cas…?” He prods tentatively, after too long a pause.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains the names of the actual characters and some plot references to the TV show 'I Dream of Jeannie'. I own none of it, but wanted to connect Castiel's past with Jeannie's and what the acceptable punishment was for a rebellious djinn/jinn.

_Come on, Cas._ Dean silently begs eyes wide and pleading, holding his breath, anticipating what Castiel’s answer might be. _Has to be._

He’s sure this was the right time to ask, feels it bone deep in its rightness. He had bided his time, eager and itching to ‘pop the question’ ever since introducing the djinni to his father. “Cas…?” He prods tentatively, after too long a pause.

Castiel takes a deep breath and raises his shaking hand. He stares at his ring for a long moment, blunt end of his thumbnail toying with the rounded edge and faint ridges of the etchings. He narrows his eyes, as if further deliberating, and fists his hand. He bends at the waist, leaning towards Dean, heart clenching at the look of quiet desperation in his green eyes. “Yes, of course, Master. I will marry you.” He answers voice deep and shaky, clutching the ring possessively against his chest.

Dean deflates and falls back on his haunches. He blinks himself back to the couch, spilling onto it, relief coursing through his body. “C’mere.” He tells his fiancé and grunts from the sudden weight of Castiel’s substantial bulk on his lap. "You had me friggin worried, man." He admits pressing his forehead against the djinni's.

"My apologies, Master, I...I didn't mean to worry you." Castiel says quietly. He takes Dean's face in his hands and brings their lips together.

"Mmmwait..." Dean protests, pulling his face reluctantly away from the warmth of Castiel's lips. "Not so fast. What were you about to say?” At the djinni’s hesitance, his voice takes on a more stern tone. “Castiel?"

“Master, I–“ Castiel stammers.

Dean takes him by the chin, thumb dipping into the deep cleft, and pivots his jaw until the djinni is looking at him. “Baby?” He asks in a low soothing voice, taken aback when he's met with wide blue eyes tinged with inexplicable sorrow. "I don't understand. Tell me what's wrong. No secrets between us, okay, I need you to be honest with me.” He insists, caressing the djinni’s heavily stubbled cheek. "Don't you want to be with me?"

He suddenly lets go, mouth opening in an 'O' of dawning realization and drops his arms to dig nervous fingers into Castiel's hips. "You don't want to be with me, that's why you're sad. You said yes because I'm your Master and you're supposed to, not because you want to. It's...it's okay. I get-" Dean rambles helplessly.

The hot press of the djinni’s lips suddenly against his, cut him off sharply. "No!" Castiel practically yells. "No, no, no, Master, a thousand times no!" He cups Dean's face, holding it tenderly and explains, "It's _you,_ Master, that asked against _your_ will."

At the look of utter confusion on Dean’s face, he plows on, regardless of his fear that once Dean knows the full truth, he will assuredly end their brief engagement.

"Dean, not a moment before you proposed, I had _wished_ that you would. Don't you see? I forced you. My powers pushed you to do it." He confesses voice dry and husky choking back his surging emotions. "I'm sorry Dean, but it's all I've wanted for a very long time now." He admits lowering his head in shame, bracing himself for the inevitable.

"O_o"

"You're speechless and upset." Castiel notices. "Of course, I understand. If you want me to leave, to-"

This time it’s Dean that cuts Castiel off. He wraps his arms around the djinni’s body, hugging him in a vise-like hold, and crushes their lips together. “You idiot.” Dean says voice hushed eyes shining. “Leave? Don’t you dare!” He whispers into the crook of the djinn’s arched neck. “Don’t you get it, yet?” He pulls back to face Castiel. “I don’t know how to be without you anymore. I need you. I - I love you.” He says, finally voicing what his body’s been showing Castiel from the moment they met.

“…?...”

“Cas, Castiel, I asked because I want to.”

The djinni’s troubled expression spurs Dean to explain further.

“You aren’t the only one that wants this. I’ve been going crazy waiting for the right time to ask, baby. I’ve wanted you…” He pauses, a little scared but ultimately excited with what he’s about to admit. “I’ve wanted you to be mine since the first moment I saw you. Heh, maybe even before that, do you understand now?”

“\o/”

“Yeah, now that’s the reaction I want when I ask someone to marry me.” Dean smiles broadly, happy and relieved that they’re both finally on the same page. He pulls the djinni’s shirt up and leans in to place a soft kiss on one dusky nipple, sucking it in when it instantly hardens from his touch.

“Mmm, I love you too, Dean.” Castiel moans, thrilled that he can finally echo his Master’s earlier sentiment, eyes widening when a glowing green mist gathers and swirls around them. “Master, are you doing this?”

“What?” Dean asks innocently, eyes looking up, teething the hardened nub and chuckling softly against the firm warm skin when Castiel cocks his brow in disbelief.

“This, Master, you _wished_ us into my bottle.” Castiel replies when the mist clears, gesturing with his outstretched arm and wiggling on Dean’s lap until he feels the satisfying bulge of Dean’s thickening cock press snugly against his ass-cheeks.

“Mmmaybe I did.” Dean teases grabbing onto the djinni’s perfect ass and blinks.

“Fuck!” Castiel gasps settling back onto Dean’s now naked lap, inhaling sharply when his Master’s cock wedges between his spread cheeks. “Master-“

“Yeah, baby?” Dean croaks, dick hardening faster whenever he hears the djinni swear.

“We’ll be late.” Castiel whispers, sighing the words into his Master’s open mouth, dipping his tongue in and groaning when Dean curls his own around it.

“Fuck, Cas, I’m still horny.” Dean complains kissing and sucking on the djinni’s sweet mouth. He tightens his grip and spreads Castiel wider, body shivering when the slicked head of his dick rubs against the djinni’s puckered rim.

Castiel knows he’s lost the battle when he feels his Master’s fingers trace over his most sensitive places, skating against his taint, rubbing circles around his anus, probing and adding pressure without penetrating him.

“Please…” He begs and pushes down eagerly onto a slicked finger.

“Fuck-“ Dean pants, already embarrassingly close to shooting his load from the exquisite feel and tiny gasps coming from his fiancé. He reaches down and lines his dick up with the djinni’s tight opening, body shuddering with pleasure when his lover sinks down in one smooth slide.

Castiel’s soon to be in-laws end up waiting, after all.

… 

The frenzy of the moment passes and they quiet, untangling slowly and readjusting their long limbs. Castiel rolls off and settles comfortably next to Dean's side, one leg still resting on top of his Master's thigh, idly stroking the sticky mess coating Dean's torso.

“Mmmm…” Dean hums contently, running his hand up and down Castiel's arm, thoroughly sated and sleepy. He opens his eyes, grinning broadly and puffing his chest out proudly at how well fucked his fiancé looks.”Nap time, baby.” He announces and blinks them out of the djinni's impressive bottle and back onto his own very comfortable bed.

“Dean, your father and Bobby are expecting us.” Castiel reminds him, sounding impossibly composed and awake for someone looking so magnificently wreaked. “If we hurry, we will only be slightly tardy.”

“Awww, fuck.” Dean groans. “Yeah, guess we better get going. But…” He backtracks reaching over and grabbing Castiel by the neck. He kisses him deeply, passionately, parting only when the need for air becomes overpowering. “We’re not done celebrating, okay.” He smirks and waggles his eyebrows suggestively. "And no one says 'tardy' anymore, for chrissakes." He adds with a roll of his eyes, smiling warmly at Castiel's wrinkled brow and pursed mouth. _Fucking adorable_ , he thinks, and leans in to plant a kiss on the tip of his perfect nose. “Let’s go then.”

…

They appear on Bobby’s doorstep, clean and presentable.

"It pleases me how well you've adjusted to your powers, Master."

"Yeah, I am pretty bad-ass with them." Dean preens. "Still, I'm feeling a little, ah, weak? Not sure if that's the right word for 'running low on mojo'. But, ah..., never mind." He huffs at Castiel's blank stare. "Look, it doesn't matter, bottom line is I think I need a, um, booster shot. Know what I mean?" He asks hoping the djinni understands. After a beat, and with no reply from Castiel, he leans over, takes the djinni’s hands, and places them on his ass, hoping that the blatant gesture makes his point clear.

Castiel's lips curl in a small feral smile. "As you wish." He replies, wicked glint in his eyes conveying just how well he understands Dean's meaning.

_God, I'm so screwed_ , Dean tells himself for the umpteenth time and unconsciously tilts his head towards Castiel’s beckoning lips. His body thrums, already anticipating the warm soft press of the djinni’s plump lips against his own. Their mouths are an inch apart, heated breath mingling, when the door flies open.

"They’re here!" Gabriel shouts grinning and rocking on the balls of his feet, looking, as far as Dean's concerned, like the fat cat that got the sweet cream. "Hello, boys."

"Geesh, guys." Sam's says peeking over Gabriel's head. "What'd you do, make a quick stop in Baghdad before popping over?" He jokes, his long shaggy hair swaying along with his laughter.

"Nah, just fucking like bunnies, bro." Dean cackles evilly enjoying his brother's mortified expression.

"Seriously, Cas, what could you possibly have in common with this degenerate." Sam asks the djinni straight faced and earnest, grinning at the sour look Dean throws his way.

"He loves me ‘cause I'm awesome, and you're just jealous." Dean fires back.

Sam arches his brows at his brother’s use of the word ‘love’, but ignores it, for now, deciding instead to humor him and go along with his teasing. "Oh really, if you're such hot sh-"

"Will you idjits get the hell inside, already?" Bobby barks at them from the kitchen.

Sam and Dean stop their bickering immediately. They give each other one last warning glare and yell, "Sorry, Bobby!" While their bemused djinn look on fondly.

...

After saying their brief hellos, and getting chewed out by John for being late, the gathered men, which now also includes Charlie and Benny, sit down to dinner.

The evening is full of good humor and lively conversation. Castiel basks in John's attention, wanting desperately to announce his engagement, but opts to stay silent waiting for Dean to make the first move.

Charlie and Benny, now fully aware of the djinn and their powers (thanks to a very ruckus evening weeks ago at the Roadhouse where a very buzzed Dean repeatedly blinked Castiel back to his side whenever the djinni dared to move a hair’s breath away from him) enjoy themselves tremendously at Dean and Sam’s expense. They joke and tease the younger Winchester men mercilessly about their current state of domesticity and what good wives they must make.

"Great meal, Bobby." John tells his friend.

"Hmph, thank Ellen. She put all of this together for her 'boys'. If it had just been us, we'd be eating take-out." He grudgingly admits.

They laugh and tease their uncle good-naturedly, quieting when John clears his throat. "Well, as fond as I am of all of you, I didn't ask you over just for your company."

The atmosphere turns serious along with John and Bobby's mood.

"I know you're all confused as to why we rejected all of your applications for next year's flight." The gathered astronauts and engineer murmur and nod in agreement, when they quiet, John continues. "The reason, gentlemen, is because I have already assigned you to another mission." He looks at each of them, including Castiel. "You are all going to Kasha."

Dean doesn’t like the nervous look Castiel and Gabriel exchange at the news. He's about to pull his djinni over and ask him what it means, when Sam speaks.

"Sir, what's in Kasha? For that matter, where is Kasha?" He asks, voicing what the other men and Charlie have all been wondering.

"In the middle east, Sam, they reached out to us, months ago, and offered to let us mine a very valuable metal, phinkilium, which can only be found in their country.”

"And they’re willing to give us the rights?" To a valuable metal?" Benny asks.

"Yes." John answers.

"And what exactly do they get in exchange?" Dean asks, honestly curious, but ultimately suspicious. "If this metal is so valuable, I'm assuming they want something just as valuable in return."

John looks down at his hands, taking a moment to compose his explanation. When he speaks it's Castiel he addresses. "They want you."

"Never!" Gabriel cries. He stands and grips his brother by the shoulder, eyes glowing like molten lava daring any of them to challenge him.

"Cas isn't being handed over to anybody." Dean says vehemently siding with Gabriel, regardless of the djinni’s reasons.

"Dean, Gabriel, as officers, it's your place to follow my orders. So shut your traps, sit back down, and let me finish."

Dean glowers; they're not in uniform or on base and their meeting was supposed to be informal. Therefore, the unquestioning obedience ingrained into him by the military has no part in this situation. He's about to offer more protests and resistance but a gentle hand on his arm, from Castiel, stills him.

"Dean," He says softly. "Please, let's hear what the General has to say."

"Castiel." Gabriel hisses. "Don't! You know how dangerous Crow-"

"Please, brother." Castiel interrupts, stopping Gabriel before he finishes what he's about to reveal. "We need to listen." He insists.

The fire in the shorter djinni's eyes dims. He looks over to John and apologizes. When he sits back down, he moves towards Sam seeking comfort from his Master's larger frame.

"Gabe, what the hell was that?" Sam lowers his head to ask, worried over his djinni's dramatic reaction.

"I'll explain later, Sam." Gabriel replies, voice tight with tension.

"For crying-out-loud, ladies, can we get back to business?" Bobby cries out. "And don't give me that look, Dean. Trust us. Nothing bad is gonna happen to your boyfriend."

That’s it, the last straw. Dean wants, _needs,_ them to know the depth of his feelings for Castiel and the djinni's permanent role in his life. So, it surprises everyone, but him, with what he says next.

"Have to disagree with you there, Bobby, ‘cause Castiel is no longer _just_ my boyfriend." He growls. "He's my fiancé."

...

The look on everyone's face would be comical if the current circumstances weren’t so dire.

This isn’t the way Dean had envisioned announcing to his friends and family his betrothal to the stunned man next to him. He glares, upset with himself for spitting out the most important news of his life and not giving it the ceremony, no pun intended, that it deserves.

"Dean, finally!" Sam shoots up and in one quick stride looms over his frozen brother, scooping him up and off his feet in a crushing hug."Congrats, man!"

"Yeah, thanks Sammy." Dean wheezes hugging him back.

"Cas!" Sam yells, dropping Dean and picking up the visibly shocked djinni."Welcome to the family, dude." He lets go and holding him at arm's length says, "Listen, let me know if he gives you any trouble, okay. I know how to handle my grumpy older brother."

"Don't you worry about my baby brother, Sam. I'll take care of Dean-o if he fu-"

"Gabriel!" Castiel snaps his menacing tone silencing the djinni.

"Hey!" Dean steps in. "Cas won't be needing help from any of you." He takes the djinni's hand, laces their fingers together and looking into the bottomless depths of his blue eyes says, "Cas, I will never hurt you." He exhales a shuddering breath, relieved that he managed to say it all with a steady voice.

"I know, Dean." Castiel replies, voice hushed and full of trust.

"Well, well, brotha." Benny joins in. "Congratulations, man." He hugs his friend tightly. "I wish you and your man all the best. Be happy, okay." He says to the couple, sending a flirtatious wink Castiel's way.

"Hmph, thanks you big flirt." Dean grins happily, almost losing his balance when Charlie tackles him from behind and wraps her narrow arms, tightly, around his waist.

"Charlie, buddy, thanks." He says genuinely pleased, patting her tiny hands with his.

“This is great news, Dean. My most humble congrats to the happy couple.” She says and bows, garnering chuckles from the gathered group.

"Congrats, boy." Bobby says next, offering his hand to Dean. "You sure about this?" He whispers so that no one else hears, staring hard and unblinking.

"More than I've ever been about anything in my life, Bobby." Dean answers voice sure, certain.

"That's what I was hoping." Bobby says grinning and overjoyed that his boy has finally found happiness. He turns and takes Castiel's hand, clasping it in both of his and pumps it enthusiastically.

"Thank you Bobby Singer." Castiel says his huge smile lighting up his handsome face.

Dazzled by the djinni, Bobby steps back and into John; the General had been hovering, patiently waiting for his turn to offer his congratulations to his son and his future son-in-law.

"Dean, Castiel." He says taking both their hands in his. "I couldn't be prouder. Dean, I can see you've made the right choice. You look happy, son, and I gotta admit, there’ve been a couple of times when I feared for your love-life." He chuckles, patting his son's cheek, eyes welling with tears and turns to Castiel."Well, Cas, I mean son." He smiles. "Guess now's as good a time as any to tell everybody about our little talk."

“Of course, General.” Castiel answers ignoring Dean's troubled expression.

"Please, it's _John._ "

"Of course, John." Castiel repeats softly, glowing from the General's special treatment. He looks around the room and waits for everyone to return to their seats before speaking. “The General wants me to act as liaison between your government and the Kashi.” He states matter of fact. “It’s the homeland of the Shaitan sect.” he adds cryptically in response to their blank stares.

“Wait a minute,” Dean interrupts, forehead furrowed in confusion. “You knew about this trip to Kasha? What the hell?”

“Yes, Dean.” Castiel answers dropping his eyes and chewing nervously at his bottom lip.

“And when were you planning on telling me, Cas?” He glares angrily, trying with all of his might to keep his voice from rising.

“Master, I couldn’t. I-“ The djinni stutters, scared and apprehensive, unsure how much he’s allowed to reveal, but unwilling to hold back and break his earlier promise to not keep anymore secrets from him.

“Dean, everything I told Castiel was in the strictest of confidence.” John steps in rescuing Castiel from Dean’s sure to come tirade. He walks over to where they sit and says, “I asked him not to mention what we discussed until I had all the facts. Now settle back down and let him continue with this briefing.”

Dean, far from pleased to remain silent, lets out an agitated breath and reluctantly eases back against the couch’s cushions. “Fine then, care to elaborate, Cas?” He says, jaw clenched arms folded across his chest. “Just curious as to why it has to be you, is all, especially since it’s obviously dangerous.” He remarks angrily, referring to Gabriel’s earlier outburst.

“Dean...” Castiel says softly, eyes begging for understanding, momentarily forgetting that he’s in a room full of NASA’s finest, all anxiously waiting to learn what he and the General have planned for them.

Dean drops his eyes, unable to hold the djinni’s anxious gaze. He snorts and shakes his head, looking back up he offers his fiancé a small apologetic smile.

Castiel nods and in return, offers his Master his own shy smile.

Forcing his eyes from Dean's, he turns his attention back to the room and continues. “In return for the phinkilium, the Kashi ask that we rid their sacred land of Majlis al Jinn from what they claim are gypsies, but I suspect are actually other sects of djinn that are currently dwelling there.” He looks over to Dean and adds, “And with you and Gabriel there, I will hardly be in any danger.”

“Ah-ha! So you do admit it’s dangerous!” Dean snaps, jumping on the djinni’s choice of words, frown firmly back in place. “The answer is no! As your Master, I’m saying outright there’s no friggin way you’re sticking your neck out for whatever this metal is or for any other djinn or some sacred land. No!”

“Dean, please, I-“ Castiel implores.

“No, Cas.” Dean says firmly. “Just no.”

At the djinni’s hard stare, eyes narrowed lips pursed,  he adds, “Fine, go ahead, please explain why we should go along with some dick’s deal over some other djinn that you have to evict from this Maljis-whateverthehell.” He challenges.

Castiel levels Dean with a smite-worthy-glower, before answering. “For centuries, the Kashi and my people have had a very strained relationship. And from the beginning the Emir and his djinni, Crowley, a very powerful Shaitan, have wanted all of the world’s djinn under one rule, namely theirs.” He explains never taking his eyes from Dean’s.

“Not enough, Cas, I still don’t understand.” Dean goads. “And what the hell is a Shatan?”

“The Shaitan,” Castiel corrects. “Are another sect of djinn. They are like us, the Marid, but their power is volatile, their mind-set unstable, and their morals, highly questionable.

“...?...”

“What don’t you understand, now?” The djinni asks exasperated and baffled by Dean’s obstinance.

“Seriously?” Dean asks, eyebrows shooting dangerously high, mouth working to find the right words for this next round of fighting with his new fiancé “How about how _now_ there’s a place where the djinn dwell? And, you’re a Marid? And that you’re the one this Emir, along with his evil djinni, who happens to be the same one that was at war with ‘your people’ has opted to, what, kick out some unsuspecting djinn? And, wait, is this the same Crowley with the bottle we’re talking about here?” He asks, startling at the realization. “That shit with you went down like two-thousand years ago.” He argues tone harsh, his anger piquing.

Castiel looks down at his tightly fisted hands and wills them to relax. He takes a deep steadying breath and looks back up, focus sharply on his Master. “Dean, I am not going into this mission blindly. I know there may be peril, but I also hope to find Crowley there. He has always been the power behind Kasha’s rulers. I have no reason to believe that it is otherwise now, especially since my search for him everywhere has yielded no results.”

“What? Am I hearing you right? Did you just say you _hope_ that prick is there?”

“Dean…” Castiel says through clenched teeth, trying to remain calm. “You know very well that I have been seeking him. I need to find Crowley in order to fulfill my father’s prophesy, with or without your assistance.” He grits out, voice hard, frustration towards his Master getting the better of him and unrepentantly, presses on. “This mission will grant me access to enter Kasha, the one country I, and all of the Marid, are forbidden to step onto.”

“Awww, come on man! Not this prophesy crap again!” Dean bites back, dismissing Castiel’s reasons with a sweep of his hand. He doesn’t want to argue, to be the cause for the djinni’s downtrodden air, but he’s fed up and prepared to dig his heels in and fight with him, all of them in fact, if it means keeping Castiel out of harm’s way.

“Castiel let me.” The General says halting Dean and sparing Castiel from anymore of his Master’s censure. “What I’m about to say cannot leave this room, is that understood.” He looks around only continuing once he’s satisfied that every one present understands the gravity of what he’s about to reveal. When they have all settled and the room quiets, he says, “I’ve known about the existence of the djinn for several years now.”

…

For the second time in less than an hour, everyone in the room is speechless. The atmosphere is thick with questions, the shock and confusion, palpable.

The General speaks, proceeding with the rest of his story before anyone in the group finds their voice. "Let me rephrase what I just said. I have _suspected_   the existence of djinn for many years now.” He corrects. “Approximately ten years ago, NASA experienced a similar crash on that same mysterious island with a pilot that miraculously walked away without a scratch. Just like you, Dean." He nods towards his oldest son.

"You're talking about Colonel Anthony Nelson." Sam fills in, recalling how during that time he barely saw his father because of the nights and days he spent working on the investigation. "That was the year I started college, and Dean went to Iraq."

"Yes, Sam. Except back then he was Captain Tony Nelson."

"Wait a minute, John. What in the world does that flake have to do with any of this?" Bobby asks, raising his brows so high they disappear under the ratty baseball cap he refuses to go without when he's off duty.

"Heh, flake? Yeah, I thought so too before...well, before I met Castiel.” He acknowledges, nodding towards the straight-faced djinni.

“The similarities between Tony and Dean's crash are too close to just be coincidence." He insists. “And he was always getting into these crazy adventures that always turned out to be nothing, or easily explained.” His voice fades out. Then picks up again with what he says next. “For instance, he and two other astronauts, Captain Healy and Commander Wingate, were placed in a contamination chamber after a flight in orbit.

"It was routine, no big deal, the standard twenty-one days. But during that time, Wingate became completely unhinged, rambling on and on about a moving golden statuette and a blonde female that would appear whenever Nelson was alone and disappear when he wasn't.” John recollects.

“Wingate also claimed that he heard her, the statuette, call Tony ‘Master’ and that they were always kissing." John pauses giving the gathered men a chance to absorb all of this new information and snorts both at the memory and at the deep blush crawling up his oldest son’s cheeks. "That poor bastard." He tsks. "The doctor on that case, Bellows, he was one signature away from having Wingate committed. He didn't do it though because like me, he always suspected that there was something 'unusual' about Tony and that it wasn't all entirely in the Commander’s imagination.

"A few years after that incident, I attended Tony's wedding. His wife's name is Jeannie and I'm convinced, now more than ever, that she's the woman and the tiny statuette that Commander Wingate claims he saw when they were quarantined."

"What are you saying, dad?" Dean asks his tone cautious, knowing already what his father will say.

"That she is a jinni, Dean." Castiel answers, tone flat and serious. He turns to face his Master, holding his gaze for a beat before adding, "Jeannie is our sister, and like me, she was imprisoned on that island. In her case, it was by the evil Blue Djinni, a Shaitan." He tells stunned men. "You see, she was promised to him by Hajji, but when the djinni came to claim her, she refused him.

“It was a very dangerous time for our people and their union would have finally meant peace between our sects, ending centuries of bloodshed. She hated him, however, and begged Hajji to release her from her vow, but he refused. Instead, he ordered her to honor the pact and marry that _begotten-son-of-a-jackal._ " Castiel swears, words laced with venom. "She had no choice and went with him. We didn't know about her imprisonment until it was too late. And once the curse is laid-“

“No djinn can unmake it." Gabriel fills in, voice low and somber.

Castiel nods sadly, his face heating up from the shame and guilt that has been plaguing him for centuries over his sister's fate. "We have not seen her in over two thousand years.” He laments, lowering his head and reaching for Gabriel’s hand. “She was to remain there, trapped, until a Master worthy of her devotion would find and free her."

“Guess sis got herself a worthy Master after all." Gabriel says with a note of bitterness. "Nelson swooped in, rescued and married her and she forgot to put our invitations in the mail? What'll I do with their wedding gift, now?" He murmurs under his breath, trying and failing in his attempt to make a joke out of his misery.

“Gabriel, you cannot fault her. None of us intervened. We all stood by and let that beast have his way with her." Castiel sighs. "Still, if I had known that she was going to be imprisoned, then I would have-“

“What? Take him on? Who are you kidding, Cassie? No one’s powerful enough to take that brute on. Dad and Michael maybe, but seeing as it was their idea for Jeannie to get married to Bluesy in the first place, well…” He considers. “Guess what I’m trying to say is, Jeannie was S.O.L from the moment that dick saw her sashay that cute little pink-clad tushy of hers across his field of vision. Neither of them knew what hit them.” Gabriel quiets, crosses his arms protectively over his chest, and leans gratefully into the arm Sam wraps around him, pulling him closer to his side.

On the other end of the couch Dean stares at Castiel for a long minute, mouth slightly agape, completely at a loss for words. He swallows thickly and when he speaks his voice is coarse, a dry rasp. "Cas, is that the reason you were imprisoned too? Were you...Hajji's backup plan?" His voice wavering, the restraint he's using to not curse at his fiancé's uncaring dick of a father, has his body buzzing with pent up rage.

The djinni gives Dean a small sad smile, and nods. "When the Blue djinni's father, the djinni Crowley, came to tell us of Jeannie's betrayal he demanded that Hajji strip her of her powers and behead her. Instead, as meager compensation, Hajji offered me to his daughter, Meg."

_Meager? Offered to Meg? What the fuck?_

These thoughts whirl through Dean’s mind and his temper flares dangerously. Castiel, being made to feel anything less than special, and to be handed over as a consolation prize without his consent, infuriates Dean."Sorry to say this man, but your dad sounds like a class A-douche." He snarls. "I'm beginning to be glad that dick's MIA. Good fucking riddance to that fuck."

"You're lucky I'm powerless against you, Captain.” Gabriel snarls, his voice deceptively soft, the air around him visibly crackling. “You don’t know anything about my family. But know this, if you continue to be disrespectful towards my father, I will find other means to persuade you to behave, even if it means using my bare hands." He threatens.

"Gabe." Sam sighs wearily next to him. "Come on, I thought you got past wanting to kill Dean all the time."

"Yeah, Gabe, can't fault me for pointing out how very fucking dysfunctional your-"

"Dean, enough." Castiel orders, the force behind his command quieting his Master immediately.

Dean bristles, mouth snapping shut. He glares at Castiel and wonders, not for the first time, when the fuck their roles reversed. How a single glance or one harsh word from the djinni has the authority to humble him, shame him, and make him swallow his pride. He doesn’t fight it or even mind it. On the contrary, he’s usually glad, and secretly turned-on, whenever his life partner calls him on his bullshit. Nevertheless, his hackles are up; learning about Castiel’s past and Gabriel’s taunts, make him furious.

“Fine, but you both know I’m right!” He attacks. “And if you still have any doubts about what I just said, go ask your sister. I bet-“

“Captain, drop it.” This time the General silences him. “We’re meeting here to discuss your next mission, not to hear you and your fiancé argue like an old married couple. Stop being so pig-headed and stow it.” He orders, eyes narrowed and focused on Dean until his shoulders sag in defeat. He turns to Castiel, eyes softening and says, “Son, please continue, there won’t be any more outbursts.” And smiles when the djinn beams.

Castiel reaches instinctively for Dean’s hand, the hurt and guilt over his own family's drama dissipating magically at the General’s endearment. “Yes…” _Father,_ he wants to reply. He desperately wants that beloved word to fall from his lips, once again, with the reverence and love to support the weight of his feelings behind it. But he doesn’t, still insecure about his position in Dean’s life. So instead, he clears his throat and steers the discussion back to the subject at hand.

“I’m to lead this team to Kasha and meet with their ambassador the Emir Hamid El Yakman. My hope is that Crowley will be there as well.”

"The fuck, Cassie?” Gabriel curses unable to hide his dismay. He recovers quickly and adds, “Okay, but we still don’t know why the one person here who _isn’t_ a bona fide NASA employee is leading this mission? ‘Cause if it’s a djinni they need, well then I’m more qualified and way better looking.”

"Because, Gabriel,” Castiel begins his tone harsh, aggravated. “If he asked for me specifically, then he knows about me and that can only mean-“

"That it is Crowley." Gabriel guesses correctly, interrupting his brother again. "Makes sense, that dick’s always been involved in everything any of his douche Masters wanted to muscle in on." He grumbles, sinking deeper into the warmth of Sam's broad chest.

“Yes, Gabriel, obviously. Now try to keep your tongue until I’m finished.” Castiel scolds upset that his brother may have given away too much and turns back to the group. "Regardless of the danger involved, and the possibility of capturing Crowley,” He states, purposefully not looking at Dean. “Kasha has the only deposits of refinable phinkilium on this planet. The Emir has promised to aid NASA in attaining the mineral rights to this rare metal. And if my being present is the only way to gain its access for the General, then so be it." He pauses and looks to each one of them in turn, gauging their reactions only to be met with a sea of confused stares. "Any questions?"

"Yeah, about a thousand." Dean replies sarcastically. "For one thing, danger and secondly, Crowley. And maybe it's just me, but isn’t the fact that you might be meeting with the same dick that had you and your sister locked up for thousands of years on that damn island, and now is insisting that you be part of this deal, not set off all sorts of alarm bells for you?” He argues getting nods and yeses in return. “And you can’t honestly tell me that you’re okay with helping that fucker kick out some other djinn from their homeland, Cas.”

Castiel holds his Master’s angry stare and replies, “As I have already stated, the primary reason why I have eagerly agreed to assist the General in this mission, Dean, is because of the possibility of Crowley’s involvement. I want to confront him. I have been searching for him for weeks now and haven’t been able to locate where he is hiding. And contrary to what you may believe, my presence at the meeting will ensure that the djinn in Majlis al Jinn are not displaced or harmed. I swear I will do everything within my power to get the phinkilium for NASA. But also, the justice that is long overdue for the Marid and the other djinn clans.”

Both Dean and Gabriel move to protest, but are cut off by the General. “Men, NASA has done an extensive background check on the ambassador, heck, on their entire regime, and we found no mention of a Crowley or anything that seems remotely supernatural. And there was no mention of djinn either, as I have already informed Castiel, just the gypsies they want to relocate from their sacred land.” John assures them. “The Emir doesn’t even have an assistant. I personally went through the findings and nothing was suspect. Sorry, Castiel, I know you where hoping to-“

“Please, General, don’t apologize. I am very grateful for this opportunity, and I still have faith in my suspicions. But regardless of a djinn presence there, or not, I am certain I will get a lead on Crowley from the other Shaitan there. I am not disheartened.” Castiel says with conviction. “And besides, I still have your mission to accomplish. And I _will_ get you your phinkilium, I promise you this.”

John grins, his affections for his future son-in-law growing and getting deeper with each passing day. He sighs heavily, tired and eager for an end to the evening. He looks around and then settles back on Castiel. “I've also spoken personally with El Yakman.”

“You’ve talked to him?” Sam asks brows cocked in surprise.

“Yes, he contacted me.” John begins. “We spoke of the mutual benefit for our countries if we were to form a partnership and requested that I send a group, of my choosing, to Kasha to broker the deal. As I stated before, his only condition was that Castiel lead the group.” He looks over to the djinni, smiling inwardly at how close he sits next to his son. “Castiel, I’m sorry that I didn’t tell you before now but it’s because I had to make sure that the information he gave me was accurate. Unfortunately, I’m no closer to knowing if what he told me was true or not, but we’ve run out of time.”

“General?” Castiel prods his voice gruff but steady, spurring the elder Winchester to continue.

“It’s time you know everything. I insisted and pushed and told the Emir that I wasn’t about to send any of my men to his country without knowing everything first. We went back and forth for weeks, but just yesterday he relented and admitted the reason he requested that Castiel be the one to lead the team. Cas…” He turns to face the djinni. “The reason I’m saying it’s not Crowley pulling the strings over there is because of what El Yakman said, and I quote, ‘The honor should go to my son, Castiel.’”

The room erupts in a flurry of voices; Bobby, already fully aware of all the details, sits silently.

“Hajji?” Gabriel erupts and stands. “Dad…Hajji!” He repeats and blinks, magicking his brother into his arms.

Castiel rolls his eyes at his brother’s over-zealous reaction but doesn’t deny his embrace, instead holds tightly as Gabriel spins them around the room and floats them towards the ceiling.

Dean can’t help the tiny growl that escapes when Castiel disappears from his side, but quickly calms at the sight of the djinn hovering above them. He smiles when Castiel turns to face him, loving the small secret smile, _just for him_ , adorning his fiancé’s beautiful face, and immediately wishes to have him back in his arms.

The next moment, only slightly startled, he’s winding his arm around Castiel’s waist and tugging him snugly against his side.

“Hey no fair!” Gabriel complains perched, once again, next to Sam. “I wasn’t done celebrating.” He pouts.

“I-I, didn’t.” Dean stammers facing Castiel. “I mean, I wanted you next to me, but I didn’t force the _wish_. Does that make sense?”

“Geesh, you are hopeless. You have to train yourself. Like, you have to know how to project your magic with your mind, not just with your co-“

“Gabriel!” Castiel warns glowering when his brother sticks his tongue out in reply. He turns back to Dean and smiling sweetly, whispers, “We’ll talk about this later, Master. Gabriel,” he turns back to his brother. “As much as I would like to believe that it’s truly Hajji in Kasha, I cannot.”

Gabriel does a double take, jaw dropping comically. “W-why?” he sputters.

“Brother, why would Hajji, our father, the most powerful being in existence, be in Kasha, the homeland of our enemies?”

“D’uh, because he’s already toppled Crowley and his goons and is summoning you for the sole purpose, and rightful honor, of sticking the cork tightly into that despot’s bottle.”

Castiel and Dean give the defiant djinni twin glares.

“What? Come on, you gotta at least keep an open mind.” he tells them, unwilling to let go of the tiny thread of hope he’s desperately clinging to for his dearly missed father.

Dean and Castiel, as well as Sam and Bobby decide to chime in, opinions and expectations tossed back and forth with mixed levels of enthusiasm for the upcoming mission.

The General watches the entire exchange in silence deciding to let the newly formed team vent and argue at will, and step in only if they veer too far off course.

Across from the two djinn and his sons, he notices Benny and Charlie speaking softly to each other. His jaw clenches in trepidation, curious as to why the young astronaut and engineer haven’t yet added to the heated discussion.”You two care to share your thoughts on the assignment?” He asks shrewdly.

The two friends startle, fall silent and shrug. Benny is the first to speak.

“General, sir, we were just going over the logistics of this here operation. You see, we can‘t begin to figure out why we’ve even been chosen. No offense, sir,” He continues emboldened. “But there ain’t nothing Charlie and I can offer that Castiel and Gabe can’t do with just a blink of their eyes.”

Sitting opposite from him, Dean clears his throat dramatically, and raises his hand.

“Oh, sorry, brotha. What I meant to say is that Castiel, Gabriel, and our fearless leader, can take on this whole mission with just a blink of their pretty eyes.” He corrects shooting Dean a wink and salute.

“Oh for crying out loud.” Bobby breaks in with an exasperated huff and turns to face Charlie and Benny. “You two bone-heads were chosen ‘cause we still need to go by the book with this thing. We can’t just magic that metal to the States without dotting all the eyes and crossing all the tees. This deal is legit and if everything isn’t followed according to protocol then you can bet we’ll have the State Department’s finest sharks up our asses probing deep and thorough until they find satisfaction.”

“God, I had no idea Bobby was so good at dirty talk.” Gabriel whispers to Sam earning himself an amused smirk from his Master.

“You two, as well as Sam and Bobby, add credibility to this mission. And trust me when I tell you that we need this to succeed. We must acquire the phinkilium for the propulsion system of the Saturn XII.” The General clarifies.

“Now get your heads out of your asses and do your jobs like the professionals you were trained to be.” He orders and stands, waiting with what he says next until he’s sure they're all listening. “Gentlemen, now that you all know what’s at stake here, I expect complete cooperation and a detailed outline of your proposed strategy within the next three days.”


	11. Drowning in a Sea of Love, Where Everyone would Love to Drown

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Come on, Jo, please.” Dean begs. “Just go warm him up for me.” He implores after spotting Castiel sitting on the opposite side of the bar, beer bottle gripped loosely by long slender fingers, small smile on his handsome face, looking like he doesn’t have a care in the whole world and completely ignoring Dean.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm a huge fan of Jo and Ellen. Especially Jo and her feisty nature. I enjoyed writing her scenes and hope you enjoy reading them.

The night is cool and breezy, the sky clear. They ride with the windows rolled down, each man quiet and pensive going over the evening’s highlights.

Dean left the meeting feeling apprehensive and aggravated. There were too many variables, too many unanswered questions, too many ways things could go wrong. He shudders. For an astronaut missions are supposed to be clear-cut, every detail checked and rechecked. Nothing left to chance. So even though they all used magic to get to Bobby’s place, Dean offers Sam and Gabriel a ride to their condo in his other true love, the Impala.

He blinked the car onto Bobby’s driveway knowing that the tangible control and soothing rumble from his girl’s engine would help him sort through the muddled mess they’ve been assigned to piece together. He grips the wheel tightly, fingers clenching and unclenching. He drives in silence, takes a deep breath and lets the engines thrumming ease the tension from his muscles. It works, like he knew it would, and loosens his white knuckled hold on the steering wheel to lay his hand on Castiel’s thigh.

The djinni sits next to him, relaxed against the open window, hair whipping in the breeze, cheeks flushed from the chill. He inhales deeply, the ocean’s perfume filling his lungs with nostalgia. He thinks back on his centuries spent in captivity, remembering how the endless crashing of the tide against his bottle and the heady salt-tang of the warm tropical air comforted him and made his imprisonment, an unbearable situation, slightly more tolerable.

He turns to look at his Master and marvels at his perfect profile: the slope of his nose from his strong brow, the pout of his lips, especially the perpetually reddened bottom one, and the sharp cut of his jaw, and grins at the warmth that creeps up his neck. His eyes wander down and smiles when they settle on the tanned hand resting casually on his thigh, breath hitching when the fingers gripping him clench painfully, possessively.

From behind them, Sam clears his throat loudly. “Ah, you guys wanna come up?” He asks hopefully, attempting to gain their attention before the pair gets caught up in one of their epic staring bouts. He’s eager to get more information from both djinn so that he can start on the team’s report and begin to formulate a cohesive plan guaranteeing success on all fronts. “Dean, I’ve got whiskey.” He quickly adds trying to tempt his brother before he can come up with an excuse to dodge the invitation.

Dean looks up and meets his brother’s gaze in the rear-view mirror. “Don’t think so, Sammy, long night. Besides, I can get all the whiskey I want now. So, thanks, but we’re gonna pass.”

“Too bad, I baked pie earlier and was kinda hoping you’d come over for some before Gabe eats it all.” It’s a dirty tactic, a sure way for him to get what he wants, but he doesn’t do it often and the evening’s earlier events justify any means he uses to get this team started and strategizing on their assignment. There are too many risks and too many lives at stake so if it means he has to bribe his brother with one of their mom’s pie recipes, then so be it.

“You used mom’s recipe?” Dean asks dubiously. “You sure you didn’t just ask Gabe to magic it for you?”

“No, Dean, it’s all from scratch. I made mom’s famous apple pie with the buttery crust.” He tells him adding a long hum for effect. “You know no magic can duplicate it.” he persuades.

Dean’s mouth actually waters at the description. His mom’s pies are delicious and deservedly famous. “So why didn’t you bring it over to Bobby’s?” He asks even though he already knows the answer.

“Dean,” Sam looks at his brother in disbelief. “You know dad still has a hard time with them. It would have ended the party before it even started.”

Dean snorts but agrees with Sam’s reasoning. “Party? That what you’re calling that cluster-fuck of a meeting? Hmph, well after what just went down and with the way I’m feeling, a slice of mom’s pie is just what the doctor ordered.” He shifts in his seat slightly and glances at his djinni. “Cas, mind if we stop up for a bit?” He asks giving his fiancé another playful squeeze.

Castiel wonders if he’ll ever get used to being treated with so much consideration. Dean asking him for his opinion or permission, in regards to anything, still takes him by surprise.

“I would love to stop _up_ , Master.” He agrees happily and silently sends a heartfelt thank you to Hajji, for granting him such a wonderful Master.

…

Soft music and the pale golden light from the roaring fireplace, along with the intoxicating aroma of freshly baked pie, greet them when they walk through the front door. They make their way straight to the eating area in the kitchen where, thanks to Gabriel, everything is already set up and waiting for them.

“Thanks, Gabe.” Sam says wrapping his arm around the shorter man’s chest and laying an affectionate kiss on top of his tawny head.

“Aww, shucks, Sammy. T'wasn’t no big thing.” Gabriel gushes.

They chat about the trivial and mundane, easy in each other's company, enjoying the peace and simple joy of just being two couples hanging out and sharing in a mutual goal: betting on whether Benny has finally managed to romance their very stubborn cousin, Jo.

“I don’t know, that Jo is pretty good at playing hard to get.” Sam points out.

“Listen, bro, you didn’t have a lap-full of that girl pouting and whining about Benny being ‘mean’ to her. She was acting like an eleven year old with a crush. I seriously believe they hooked up the night of my welcome home party.” Dean counters.

“Well, only one way to know for sure. Why don’t we just ask him ourselves?” Sam suggests and frowns when Dean reaches for his third slice of pie. “Dude, you’re gonna explode.” He warns wrinkling his nose in distaste when Dean rubs soothing circles around his exaggeratedly extended belly.

“It’s too good to stop, Sammy. Gotta hand it to you, bro, you make a mean pie. Do mom proud.” He remarks, unknowingly guaranteeing a lifetime of pies from his baby brother with that innocent enough compliment. Unfortunately, it’s Dean, and he’s incapable of giving his brother praise without throwing in a teasing comment or two. “You’re a lucky man, Gabe, the little woman,” He grins widely nodding towards Sam. “Is quite the little baker.”

Sam furrows his brow and smirks. He’d already anticipated a dig from his brother and is ready with his rebuttal.

“Really Dean? You sure you wanna go there?” He knows he’s hit a nerve when Dean’s expression goes from smug to deer-in-headlights frozen. “You sure you want to argue about who’s the ‘male’ and who’s the ‘female’ in our respective relationships? Because last time I checked, the only way for a human to acquire magical djinn powers is through some very strenuous and penetra-“

“Okay, Sam. Nuff said.” Dean barks, blushing a deep shade of red. “Point taken.”

Sam chuckles and Gabriel cackles and if their combined laughter sounds forced or wary, no one mentions it.

It’s not a subject either cares to ever bring up. The fact that they’ve already been intimate, each topping according to their mood, with no resulting magical abilities bestowed on Sam, bewildered them at first. After lengthy conversations and hours spent pouring over ancient djinn tomes, they concluded that: _A._ _Being the chosen one means that Dean can literally absorb magic from B_. _Castiel’s_ _super-charged sperm._ It’s what it could mean for their brothers that keep Sam and Gabriel from sharing their discovery.

“So which one of you laughing hyena is gonna call him?” Dean asks and quickly adds before either reply. “Oh, and get Charlie while you’re at it. I’m dying to hear her take on the whole Ben-Jo hookup.”

“Dude, when did you turn into a teenage girl?” Sam snorts and turns to Gabriel. “Gabe, I’ll call him and you blink him?”

“Your wish is my command, Sam.”

…

“I don’t really think Joanna-Beth would appreciate us talking about her love-life without being present to defend herself. “Charlie says worriedly being no stranger to her friend’s infamously short fuse.

“I agree with Charlie. So I suggest, for the safety of our hides, that we drop it.” Benny recommends.

“Toldya they were getting it on.” Dean whispers to Gabriel and holds out his hand to accept the five-dollar bill he’s just won from the djinni.

“Betting, Dean? How are you my brother? And Gabe, seriously? She’s my cousin, more like my sister, really. So show a little respect, guys.” Sam says disgustedly, frowning at the self-satisfied pair.

“Aww, come on Sammy, sorry if I offended your feminine sensibilities. I forgot how you girls like to stick-up for each other.” Dean teases and winds his arm around Castiel’s waist. “You don’t see Cas getting all bent outta shape.”

“Dean, I thought you liked it when I get _bent_?” Castiel says confidentially, but unfortunately loud enough for everyone else to hear.

“Shut it!” Dean yells over the loud laughter. “You’re all acting like a bunch of three year olds.” He grumbles, grudgingly joining in on their laughter because, Castiel is _awesome._

…

The impromptu get together goes from being lighthearted, full of harmless teasing and joking between friends, to an atmosphere that is tight and tense when the conversation turns to their upcoming mission.

“No Dean, you will not disguise yourself as me. Be it Hajji or Crowley, either will know immediately that you’re an imposter.” Castiel repeats, shooting down Dean’s idea for the second time.

“Listen, Cas, I’m unusually powerful for a new djinni, you said so yourself.” Dean argues. “Trust me, it’ll work and once we’re sure this guy really is Hajji and that he’s still one of the good guys, then you can come out.” He urges and grips the djinni’s hand tightly. “Don’t make me force you.” He says voice low and secretive so that only Castiel hears.

Castiel closes his eyes and sighs. He’s about to go against his Master’s wishes. He has no choice. The only time a djinni is allowed to disobey his Master is when a wish could potentially jeopardize their own life. After a beat, he looks at Dean, the man whose life has become more precious to him than his own, and with steely resolve straightens his shoulders and says, “No, Dean, I will not let you take my place, especially if this ‘Hajji’ is an impostor and potentially dangerous.”

The room swells with the murmur of their combined voices, questions and answers firing back and forth between them. Only Dean is silent. When the others finally quiet, he asks, “Is that your final answer?” His tone cool and steady belying the anger brewing and threatening to boil over.

“Nothing you say will change my mind, Dean.”

Dean releases Castiel’s hand and stands. “I need air.” He announces.

“I’ll come with you.” The djinni tells him getting up as well.

“No!” Dean snaps, he’s upset with Castiel, with their situation, with not being in control, but mostly upset with the heavy lump of fear that’s made permanent residence in his stomach. He needs space and time, hoping that a little bit of distance from everything and everyone will help to soothe his jumbled thoughts and settle his storming emotions. “I need to be alone.”

And before anyone can protest, he’s gone, leaving everyone stunned silent with his brusque departure.

…

He ends up at the Roadhouse and is well on his way to getting blissfully drunk when he feels the soft press of warm breasts against his bare arm.

“Dean.” A beautiful redhead breathes huskily into his ear.

“Abby!” Dean smirks and nods. “Long time, sweetheart.”

“Indeed.” Abaddon agrees, perfectly lined red lips curl into a predatory smile. “I’ve just been itching all over to see you again.” She whispers seductively, running long red lacquered nails up and down Dean's back in slow suggestive caresses. “What happened to that call you promised me, you bad-boy.” She scolds and leans in closer to give him a playful nip on the ear.

“Whoa!” Dean sputters, drawing back and away, completely unaware that his every move is being monitored, and that this woman, who is shamelessly flirting with him, is just a blink away from a gruesome death.

…

Across the restaurant Jo watches Castiel, watch the whole exchange. She quickly strides over to the djinni knowing all too well, what the look of pure anger on his face implies.

“Hey, Cas.” She calls out when she gets closer and nods to indicate the pair at the bar. “Let me.” She tells him and with a wink and evil grin, turns on her heel and heads towards them.

Castiel was seconds away from blinking the admittedly bewitching redhead into oblivion. The only reason he hesitated, at all, was because he was torn between his choices of where to send her: outer space or the nether world, Hades.

He can’t help the annoyance he feels towards his Master’s well-meaning cousin when her approach inadvertently preempts Abaddon’s painful fate. But as he watches her swagger off, he’s overwhelmed with affection for the petite blonde and grateful for her efforts to protect what is rightfully his, Dean.

…

“Yeah, sorry about not calling, been busy.” Dean apologizes wishing like hell that he had never gone out with this woman, whom he initially found beguiling, but now can’t stomach.

“Not too busy now, though, right baby?” She pouts. “Why not come back to my place so you can make it up to me?” She suggests pressing closer.

“Because he’s been busy having tons of glorious butt sex with his awesome boyfriend, skank.” Jo jumps in startling the pair apart.

“Sonofabitch, Jo!” Dean yelps while Abaddon hisses. He turns to face his very pissed off cousin and says, “The hell’s wrong with you? You scared the crap outta me.”

“Hmph, you should mind what comes out of that pretty mouth of yours Joanna-Beth, if you know what’s good for you.” Abaddon threatens. “Besides, Dean and I were just catching up, so if you don’t mind -“

“Actually, I do mind, Abby.” Jo sneers stepping right into Abaddon’s personal space, staring down the taller woman. “Perhaps you didn’t hear me the first time since you were too busy sticking your forked tongue down Dean’s ear, but the reason he hasn’t called is because he is currently in a monogamous relationship with a very good friend of mine. So, beat it, 'lady'.” She air quotes snorting in derision.

It’s not just the _‘I’m-gonna-fuck-you-up-bitch’_ look that convinces Abaddon to back off, but also the knowledge that the smaller woman, breathing up her neck (who also happens to be competing against her for the affections of the very handsome astronaut, Benny) is also known as the best hand-to-hand combatant on base and therefore, lethal. This fact, coupled with the look of murder on Jo’s face, spurs the redhead to bide her time and leave well enough alone.

Abaddon snorts down her nose at the menacing blonde. “Your loss, Dean.” She huffs haughtily towards the astronaut. “And trust me, I was just getting started on how much fun I was gonna show you, baby.” She purrs and thoroughly satisfied with how flustered Dean gets grins broadly and turns her attention back to Jo, where she dares to take one last jab. “Be a dear, Jo, and tell Benny I said hi. Oh, and that I had a great time the other night.” She adds meanly and walks away, rounded hips swaying enticingly on long shapely legs.

“Ow! What now, Jo?” Dean gripes rubbing the sore spot on his arm where Jo punched him.

“Dumb-ass, why did you let that demon near you? No wait, I want to know why you didn’t just blow her off immediately.” She growls at him repulsed from her interaction with Abaddon.

Dean opens his mouth to reply, but after a few seconds of nothing, because there’s really no excuse Jo will accept, snaps it shut.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought. Oh, and just so you know, you’ve been caught.” She informs him and gestures towards the front of the restaurant where she knows Castiel is still watching and waiting.

 _Fuck_ , Dean thinks and turns to where Jo points, instantly pinned to the spot by his fiancé’s narrowed eye glare. _Fuck,_ he tells himself again, at the murderous look. Mustering up his courage, he yells over for the djinni to join them. “Fuck!” He curses under his breath when instead of joining them, Castiel disappears.

…

“Come on, Jo, please.” Dean begs. “Just go warm him up for me.” He implores after spotting Castiel sitting on the opposite side of the bar, beer bottle gripped loosely by long slender fingers, small smile on his handsome face, looking like he doesn’t have a care in the whole world and completely ignoring Dean.

“Goddamn you’re a chicken-shit, Dean. How are we related?” She asks grimacing in mock-disgust. “Okay, fine, just stop your whining. Show a little pride, dude.” But before she moves to get up, Dean grabs her arm painfully. “Ow! What the-“

Her eyes bug out at what she sees realizing immediately why Dean’s fingers are digging painfully into her arm.

Across from them, a very good-looking blonde man has invaded Castiel’s personal space, sitting so close, that he’s practically on the djinni’s lap.

“Brady.” Dean snarls. “That douche is gonna be limbless in a second if he doesn’t get away from my-“

Jo’s eyes widen in mild horror. She tsks and rolls her eyes. “Honestly, Dean, sometimes you are one scary mother. You know you don’t have anything to worry about, it’s obvious to everyone that you and Cas freaking deserve each other. So, get a grip, okay, Winchester. I’ll go handle this too.”

She pries Dean’s hand from her arm, gives him a quick peck on the cheek and hops off her stool. “You owe me.” And with that, walks over to where Castiel and the laughing blonde are seated.

Brady is the first to notice Jo. He gives her the once over and smiles charmingly at her approach, but frowns when she leans over and whispers into Castiel’s ear.

“Hello, Joanna-Beth, would you like to join me and, ah, Brady?” Castiel asks behind a forced smile and pleading eyes.

“Yeah, just what I thought.” Jo replies shaking her head and huffing in exasperation. She places her hand on Castiel’s shoulder and focuses on Dean’s nemesis. “Sorry Brady, you’re sniffing up the wrong tree. He’s taken.” She says and gestures towards the exit with her thumb.

“Beg your pardon?” Brady asks, clearly confused. “Castiel, what’s going on?”

“Brady, this is my friend Jo, and she is telling the truth, I am ‘taken’. I belong to Dean.” He clarifies to the stupefied man.

Brady backs off and holds his hands up. “You’re with Dean? Heh, lucky him.” He muses. “Look, Castiel, I was only looking for a little company and if maybe you’re in the mood for a bit of fun and interested-” He stops short and turns beet red at the loud gurgles his stomach suddenly produces. “Excuse me it must be something I ate – “ He stops again, this time doubling over with painful cramps, and farts.

“Hey, you alright?” Jo asks, concerned but has to bite her tongue in order to stop the laughter that’s threatening to burst out. “Cas?”

The djinni spins in his seat and looks at Dean, finally acknowledging him. Holding his gaze, he shakes his head disapprovingly. He turns back to the gassy man and blinks. “Damn.” He says under his breath. “Perhaps you should go to the rest room, Brady.” He advises, frustrated that his magic wasn’t able to counter Dean’s obvious jinx.

“No, I’ll be fine. I’m so embarrassed.” He stammers and orders a glass of water.

“Flatulence is a natural function of the human body to rid itself of trapped air bubbles and should not be viewed as a malady.” Castiel explains to the now thoroughly mortified man.

“That so - Argh!” Brady grunts grabbing at his midsection. He looks up apologetically and catches sight of Dean staring at him over Castiel’s shoulder. The look Dean gives him plus the sudden indigestion that’s causing him to double over in pain, hastens his retreat.

“On second thought, I think-“ His good-bye is cut short by a loud drawn out tearing sound. He stumbles back and runs for the exit when the noxious smell that immediately follows, has them all covering their faces and gagging.

Castiel and Jo share a sympathetic look and turn to stare daggers at Dean when the already noisy restaurant, fills with his ruckus laughter.

…

“Seriously not cool, Dean!” Jo chastises when she finds out it was his doing, but grudgingly accepts his fist-pump for the prank.

“Hey, he had it coming.” Dean objects. “I saw you tell that dick to beat it and if he chose to not heed your warning, well then, can’t really hold me responsible.” He defends and folds his arms defiantly over his chest.

“Well, still shitty. And now as a bonus, Cas is pissed about that dirty little trick too.”

“Yeah, well, maybe I’m pissed off at him too, you ever think of that?” He asks. “Did he tell you we got engaged tonight, huh? So what, to celebrate he lets some random stranger flirt with him. I mean I should- ow! What was that for?” He yelps rubbing his head where she whacked him with the back of her hand. “Picking up all of Bobby’s bad habits?”

“Listen you idjit, I appreciate all the moves my daddy taught me, especially the ones on how to keep you and your brother in line.” She says pointing and jabbing at him with her finger. “Now you get your sorry ass over to that gorgeous man and apologize. Profusely. On hands and knees. With lots of ass kissing. And thank your lucky stars that he accepted your proposal in the first place. Understand?” She says dangerously waving her small clenched fist threateningly under his nose.

“Geesh, Jo, take it easy.” He says quietly exhaling a long-suffering sigh. He looks over to his fiancé and gulps thickly when he’s met with the djinni’s piercing blue gaze. Even from a long distance, Dean can clearly make out the electric blue of Castiel’s eyes. “Um…” He pauses and swallows again when the djinni takes a long pull from his beer and sends him a look that can only mean _angry sex is eminent,_ stands, and makes his way towards the men’s room.

Dean practically falls off his seat, thrilled at the prospect of getting between Castiel’s legs. “See ya around, Jo.” He waves distractedly and starts walking away. He stops and runs back to his cousin, engulfing her in a crushing hug. “Thanks, and one more favor, give Benny a chance, okay?” He pulls back kisses her on the forehead and walks briskly in Castiel’s direction without waiting for her reply.

She snorts and frowns. “Not if he was the last man on Earth.” She sighs sadly.

…

“Cas?” Dean calls out, voice hushed and low, upon opening the door. He turns to lock it and is only mildly surprised, but extremely turned-on, when he’s spun in place and pinned against the wall. “Hi there.” He says grinning broadly eyes sparkling. “Fancy meeting you here.”

Castiel responds by latching his mouth onto Dean’s, forcing his lips apart with his tongue. “I knew where you’d be.” He shrugs, grabbing and squeezing Dean’s denim clad ass.

“Couldn’t stay away, huh?” Dean teases clamping his teeth onto the djinni’s plump bottom lip.

“On the contrary, I believe I gave you ample time to be ‘alone’. But I see now that when you ask for ‘space’ it doesn’t mean you want to be without human interaction, just simply without mine.”

The look of complete acceptance and utter resignation from his wide blue eyes has Dean spinning the djinni around, trading places, and dropping to his knees. He looks up, glistening green eyes fighting back tears and says, “Baby, no. Please, don‘t think that. If anything, the opposite’s true.” He leans his head forward, rests it on Castiel’s groin and rubs his face back and forth across the coarse fabric of the djinni’s jeans. “Cas,” He starts, then lifts his head to meet his eyes. “I was a real jerk, baby, I’m sorry. I just want to keep you safe.”

Castiel tilts his head down, small smile spreading across his face, fingers running tenderly through his Master’s hair. “Dean…” He sighs softly pausing to find the right words. “I understand why you needed to leave. But I must admit that as your djinni, and even more now as your betrothed, the urge to constantly be near you to provide comfort, protection, and _pleasure_ …” He whispers provocatively nudging the growing bulge of his erection against Dean’s face. “Is overwhelming to me. My body is completely attuned to yours, and always knows the whereabouts of its partner.”

“Intense much, baby?” Dean smirks, blushing from the djinni’s heartfelt sentiments and knowing, without a doubt, that he feels exactly the same way. He lays a dainty kiss on Castiel’s clothed cock and forgoes magic to use his own hands to open the djinni’s pants. “Fuck, Cas.” He swears, voice gone dry, exhaling a heated sigh when he exposes the djinni’s pink panties; the pronounced curved outline of Castiel’s rock hard dick straining against the sheer cloth, begging Dean for release.

“Do you like them, Master?” Castiel asks shyly, his voice deep and throaty, gravel rough.

Dean looks up at the sound of his voice, unconsciously palms his own hard-on, and wets his lips. He swallows hard and says, “Like them? Yeah, you bet.” His own voice, far from smooth, sounds just as wreaked as Castiel’s and comes out like an inaudible croak. “Definitely, like.” He adds, nodding enthusiastically and without breaking eye-contact leans forward to mouth at his lover’s cock through the silky fabric.

He licks a wet stripe across the long length of Castiel’s dick, saturating the semi-opaque fabric and turning it completely transparent, body thrumming with arousal when he gets a filtered down taste of pre-cum through the soaked underwear. “Fucking delicious.” He groans and grabs the firm meat of Castiel’s ass, squeezing and kneading the muscles with one hand, while running his fingertips from the other along the lace edge, seeking to release the protruding head.

Castiel mewls wantonly, lustful, and loud from the onslaught of open-mouth kisses Dean drops on the swollen crown of his cock. “Quit teasing!” he grits out between shaky breaths. He’s impatient, needy, and desperate for Dean’s mouth on _all_ of his dick.

“Shh, they’ll hear us.” Dean warns, curling his tongue around the plumb head. He fans his fingers against the djinni’s flat stomach to keep him from moving and dips his free hand into the sopping panties.

He hums and moans licking and laving, taking his time, savoring the sweet melody of soft helpless noises Castiel makes as he works him open. “So fucking hard for you, Cas. Taste so fucking good.” He mumbles against Castiel’s crotch, lips wrapping around his dick, thumb rubbing and pressing gently against the djinni’s magically slicked pucker.

Castiel hisses and bucks when in one swift move Dean swallows him down and breaches his hole, inserting one digit to the knuckle and crooking it.

“Dean Winchester, you better not be in there having sex with your boyfriend!” Ellen shouts, banging loudly on the other side of the bathroom door.

“Mom, Cas is Dean’s fiancé now.” They can hear Jo hiss to her mother.

“Fine. Congratulations, boys. Now get your asses outta there or so help me, I’ll kick you out myself.” She threatens.

“Fuck.” Both Dean and Castiel groan at the same time.

Dean climbs up the djinni’s body and says over his shoulder, “Ah, we were just leaving, Ellen. No need to send in the troops, we’re going.”

“I don’t need troops, Dean. I can take you both myself.” And she would be a boasting, if it weren’t true.

“Sorry, Ellen.” Both men answer.

And if it hadn’t been for Jo holding onto her arm, Ellen would have fallen, face first, when the door suddenly swings open.

“Coulda at least said bye.” She grumbles under her breath, righting herself.

…

They blink themselves back to Dean’s house, _their_ house, where once again, Dean finds himself slammed against the wall.

“Oomph!”He grunts when the air is knocked out of him and Castiel, unapologetically, claims his mouth, kissing him sloppily, aggressively, until the astronaut pulls away for air.

“Get back here.” Castiel snarls.

“I’m right here!” Dean snarls back.

They rush back towards each other, bodies colliding, arms wrapping around necks, waists, grabbing on for dear life. When they kiss, it’s a slow sensual tangling of tongues, fingers carding through hair, hips locking, thickening cocks grinding deliciously against each other.

Castiel manhandles Dean until he's pressed back against the wall and grabbing onto the rounded globes of his ass, lifts him up.

Dean, catching on quickly, answers by wrapping his legs around the djinni’s slim hips and blinks their clothes away. “Argh!” He grunts, head falling back, thunking heavily against the wall, moaning when he feels the blunt head of Castiel’s cock, prod against his hole.

Castiel rolls his hips; the tip of his dick, still wet from Dean’s earlier ministrations, slides enticingly across his Master’s perineum. He presses his body flush against Dean’s, trapping the writhing astronaut’s cock, heavy and leaking, against their bodies.

“Ngh!” Dean chokes. “Baby, God, please-“ he rambles, light-headed from the stimulation.

“What do you want, Dean?” The djinni rasps leaning in to lick at his jaw. “What is your wish, Master?” He asks wickedly, voice a deep sexy bass adding to the shivers already wracking Dean’s body, kissing him again before Dean can answer.

“You, in me. Now!” Dean orders, surprised he was able to chain the words together at all.

Castiel, delighted by the command, throws his head back and chuckles, the long column of his neck vibrating with soft laughter. “Yes, Master.” He says and blinks.

Dean finds himself face down on the mattress and immediately begins to rut against it, desperate for relief. He looks over this shoulder, eyes widening at the sinful sight of the djinni stroking his shaft, movements slow and steady, deliberate, eyes dark and hungry. Dean whimpers softly and tears his gaze away. He faces forward to rest his head and arms flat on the bed, knees bent he arches his backside, lifting his hips, and presents his hole.

Castiel growls at the invitation. He steps to the bed’s edge and falls to his knees, reaching up to grip his Master’s calves for support.

He works his way up, trailing a path of tiny bites and kisses towards Dean's bared rectum. He nudges his nose and mouth between his Master’s cleft and uses his thumbs to spread the cheeks apart. “Dean…” He exhales against the pink ring of muscle and leans in, using the flat of his tongue, to lubricate the opening.

“Ahh…fuck…” Dean gasps moaning a litany of curses as the djinni works him open, wailing and pushing back when he feels the sharp tip of Castiel’s tongue penetrate him. He reaches between his legs to touch himself only to have his hand slapped away. “Cas…please, touch me!” He whines, the pressure in his balls making him desperate and needy.

Castiel continues to stab and lick, fucking Dean with his tongue, reveling in the heady taste and inhaling the deep musky scent. He pries the astronaut’s cheeks further apart, nipping and sucking bruises onto the vulnerable flesh.

“Baby…” Dean insists. “Please…”

This time the djinni takes pity. He maneuvers himself until he’s lying on his back with his face directly below Dean’s cock, mouth open and neck straining, he takes Dean in.

Dean groans when the djinni wraps his lips around the head of his dick, wailing when Castiel opens wide and devours him, surrounding his cock in wet heat. He looks between his legs, mesmerized by Castiel’s talented mouth as he sucks him off, teeth lightly grazing along his length, tongue flicking at the crown, stabbing at the slit, cheeks hollowing out with the increase of suction, lips stretched obscenely around his massive girth.

Dean thrusts, unable to stop himself, and join’s in the rhythm set by the djinni, to enthusiastically fuck his mouth.

Castiel moans around Dean’s dick, encouraging his Master to fuck his face, reaching between his own legs to grip himself and stave off his rapidly nearing climax.

“Cas, fuck…gonna cum – “ Dean stammers, even thrusts becoming erratic, hips pistoning with irregular jerks, plundering the djinni's mouth, mind whiting out each time his dick hits the back of Castiel's throat.

Castiel, flat on his back, legs hanging off the edge of the bed, eyes closed and mouth full of cock, takes it _all_ gladly, greedily; his neck strains and tenses from the force and impact of Dean’s thrusts as he drives his dick, mercilessly, down the djinni's throat.

“Jesus, Cas-” Dean grunts, hips stuttering when Castiel swallows, cumming from the contraction of the djinni’s muscles working around the engorged head of his dick.

Castiel hungrily gulps and chugs the semen that spills down his abused throat, the hot viscous liquid, bittersweet and delicious.

When there’s nothing left, Dean pulls free with a soft pop and hisses when his softening dick, oversensitive from the djinni’s very thorough blowjob, is exposed to the room’s cool air. He collapses, falling over on his side, facing Castiel “Baby, that was fucking mind blowing!” He declares running his thumb, tenderly, across his fiancé’s red swollen lips.

Castiel looks at Dean, eyes alert and lust blown, lips curling slightly at the corners and says, “My turn.” Voice husky, sex-charged.

Dean’s happy and sated dick gives a weak twinge upon hearing the djinni’s tone and ambitiously attempts to refill at the promise of a sound fucking.

Castiel positions himself between the vee of Dean’s thighs, lifts the astronaut’s legs and rests them on his shoulders. He bends down lavishing Dean with kisses and whispered endearments. “My love.” He sighs into Dean’s open mouth, swallowing the soft sighs and whimpers Dean makes when the djinni rubs around his opening. He works slowly and lovingly, kissing Dean’ face, his jaw, down his chest, peppering his skin with adoration.

“Mmm, love you, Cas.” Dean mouths against the djinni’s lips. His mind is fuzzy and blissfully light from the stratospheric levels of his arousal, but manages to say aloud, “Fuck me, baby.”

At Dean’s words, the pressure in the air thickens, suddenly heavy with ozone and electricity. They lock eyes and share breaths while Castiel continues to finger him open.

“M’ready, baby…please…now.” Castiel doesn’t need to be told again. He removes his fingers and replaces them with the head of his dick, lining it up and exhaling sharply before sliding in.

Dean whines at the intrusion, still stubbornly refusing to ease his discomfort with magic, needing and wanting to feel how his whole body reacts and lights up from the djinni’s touch, from the delicious drag and catch of Castiel’s velvet smooth cock inside his inner walls. He takes a deep breath and kisses Castiel, instantly soothed by the weight of his body, the taste of his mouth, and the scent from his skin, sighing long and loud when the djinni bottoms out, hips flush against Dean’s ass.

Castiel stills and closes his eyes, reveling in the heat and pressure surrounding his cock, savoring the fact that he’s the only being that has ever or will ever own Dean so completely, secure in the knowledge that Dean belongs to him, mind, body and soul. “Dean.” He sighs again, that one syllable laced with all of his love and promises of forever.

He pulls out slowly, inch by tortuous inch, and using Dean’s thighs as leverage glides back in, cock sliding in and out smoothly, now that the astronaut’s slicked entrance, easily engulfs the djinni’s hard length.

“God…you feel so good.” Dean gasps reeling from the overwhelming sense of fullness and _perfection_ he gets when the djinni is completely in. “Love you-" He says again, the words coming out in short huffs of air, pulling Castiel down and kissing him everywhere he can reach before the djinni pulls away and lowers Dean’s legs, guiding them around his back.

Dean crosses his ankles and uses the new position to hold onto Castiel. He locks his ankles and digs his heels into the small of the djinni’s back, grinning and tightening his grip, allowing him to move only once he’s sure Castiel has remembered his promise from their earlier conversation in front of Bobby’s door.

Eyes darkening, mouth slack, Castiel nods in understanding and pulls out slowly before slamming back in. They both grunt from the force; Castiel on his knees, hands digging painfully into Dean’s hips. Dean, head pressed flat against his pillow, arms raised with hands pinned against the headboard to brace himself lest he end up banging against it, cock rapidly refilling.

The djinni snaps his hips, hard and fast; the pace hurried, the angle of penetration brushing against Dean’s prostate with every thrust, pushing them closer to their climax.

“Dean, I-” Castiel rasps rhythm stuttering, breath ragged, nails digging into the soft flesh of Dean’s ass, leaving behind deep crescents. “Deeaan!” He keens and orgasms, filling his lover with a seemingly endless stream of his magical seed.

When the first spurt of cum enters him, Dean’s body locks up, eyes slamming shut, struggling for air from the waves of overwhelming pleasure that roll out, and through him. His body instinctively clenches around Castiel’s cock, squeezing and extracting, milking his dick, until the djinni’s completely emptied.

When the convulsions finally ebb, his eyes flutter open, revealing bright green orbs glowing and pulsing with power. He takes a deep lungful of air, heart slow to calm, finally focusing on Castiel. “Fucking wow, Cas. That was-“ he gasps, clutching with unsteady hands at the djinni’s sweat slicked back, stopping short at the look of shock on the djinni’s face. “Sure hope that’s your _oh-my-god-I-fucked-my-brains-out,_ look, ‘cause I gotta tell ya, the way you’re looking at me is kinda unnerving.” He questions, unsettled by the unusual dullness of the djinni's usually vibrant blue eyes.

Castiel doesn’t reply immediately, he’s breathless, heart hammering violently in his heaving chest, using the tip of his tongue to moisten his too dry lips.

“Cas…baby?” Dean’s worried now, dread replacing the euphoric high from their epic love-making. “Talk to me, Cas.”

The djinni continues to stare but slowly lowers himself to rest on top of Dean’s sweat coated chest. Bracing himself on his elbows, he brackets his Master’s face between his hands and studies him further. After a long uncomfortable pause, heart thudding heavily, sluggishly, he says in a low coarse whisper, “Dean, I…my powers are gone.”

 

 


	12. Everything I do, I do for You...whether you like it or not!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “But Master, what kind of djinni would I make without my powers?” Then mutters under his breath. “A very poor example of one, I should think.”

“Dean!” Sam yells from the front door.

“Kitchen!” Dean calls back. “Christ, Sam, indoor voice, okay. Cas is still sleeping.” He adds in a lower decibel.

“Oops, sorry. That lunch?” Sam asks gawking at the large assortment of dishes spread across the granite countertop.

“M’fass.” Dean mumbles around a mouthful of pancakes. “Sit.” He offers and blinks a place setting for his brother.

“Ah, no thanks.” Sam replies, still coming to terms with his brother’s supernatural abilities and the ease with which he uses them. “Already ate.” He lies tapping his stomach.

“Suit yourself.” Dean shrugs and digs back in.

Sam walks to the other side of the kitchen island and takes a seat. “So, rough night?” He asks tentatively already well aware of what happened the previous night, thanks to Jo.

“ _Fun_ night, rough morning.” Dean corrects but doesn’t elaborate, turning instead to refill his coffee cup.

Sam cocks a brow and purses his lips. He knows when his brother’s avoiding something that’s troubling him, but doesn’t prod, unsure how to broach the subject. Of course, it would help if he knew what needs broaching. He mulls over the information he got from his cousin and stays quiet, waiting for Dean to fill in the rest. After several minutes of Dean eating in silence, he speaks.

“Dude, you told me to come over right away, and now you’re not even talking? What the hell happened? Where’s Cas?”

“Like I said, he’s still sleeping.” Dean replies without looking up.

“That’s strange, since when does Cas sleep in? I mean, he’s always up and following you around. He not feeling well? Wait, can the djinn get sick?” Sam asks with honest concern.

“Look, he’s ah…tired, okay. He just needs to get his strength back.” Dean dodges.

“Why would he need to get his strength back? He’s a djinni, a very powerful one. He…“ Sam trails off trading his look of concern for one of understanding. “Oh, he, ah, _needs_ to get his strength back. He feeling weak? Um, is it be because…god, how do I put this?”

“Because your brother’s greedy hole sucked up all of Cassie’s mojo.” Gabriel all but yells from where he suddenly appears.

“Gabe!” Sam snaps. “Keep it down. Come here and sit.”

“Sam, he hurt Cas!” Gabriel snarls, unable or not caring to lower his voice, pointing an accusatory finger towards Dean.

Dean gets up, a blur of movement, so quick his chair overturns, and in a flash is pressing his forehead threateningly against the djinni’s. “Cas is not hurt. I did not hurt him, okay. I would never hurt him.” He spits out pressing the shorter man down with the pressure of his head. “So shut your fucking pie-hole before I shut it permanently.” He threatens, startling when Sam grabs him from behind and pulls him back.

“Dean, Gabe!” Sam stands between the two, separating them with his outstretched arms. “Calm down!” He gives Gabriel’s fuming form one last warning glare before turning to Dean. “What does Gabe mean you hurt Cas?” He asks jaw set with a disapproving frown.

“Sam, we…we-“ Dean, blushing furiously can’t bring himself to actually say the words. It’s not that he’s ashamed and it’s definitely not because he’s shy. But with Castiel not being well he feels reluctant and a little bit afraid, ok, a lot afraid, with the outcome, and is therefore hesitant to put into words the actions that led to the djinni’s current state.

So he does the next best thing he can think of, to get his point across; he lifts his hand, makes the shape of a circle with his thumb and forefinger and pokes the forefinger from his other hand, repeatedly, in and out.

“God, Dean! What are you, five?

Dean blushes to the tips of his ears and quickly stops. “Fine, okay. Cas isn’t really great ‘cause we maybe, kinda, sorta, had a little bit of sex last night.” He finally admits wincing throughout the entire confession.

“Heh, a little bit? Seriously? Try he fucked you into the mattress and your hole sucked him dry.” Gabriel helpfully supplies.

Dean glares at the djinni but doesn’t deny the accusation. “Cas just needs to re-juice. Let him be for a bit and he’ll be his old self in no time.” He explains haltingly not really believing his own words, dreading that he could be wrong.

“I wanna see him.” Sam says reasonably.

“Maybe later. He’s resting, like I already said.” Dean answers glancing towards the ceiling.

“No, he’s awake, Balty’s with him.” Gabriel tells Sam and ignores Dean.

Dean’s head snaps back to Gabriel. “What the hell is that smarmy douche doing in my bedroom with my fiancé?” he barks and vanishes.

…

“Deeeann.” Balthazar says, greeting the astronaut with a long drawn-out accented drawl of his name.

Dean’s so incensed, the air around him crackles. He struggles to rein in his anger, finding it exceedingly difficult because of what he sees; Balthazar staring back at him, smug smile plastered on his smug face, lying on _his_ bed with an arm wrapped tightly around _his_ fiancé’s shoulders. Dean’s hands clench tightly from the sight, wanting nothing more than to reach out and physically remove the blonde djinni with his bare hands. But he takes a deep breath instead, and tries, for Castiel’s sake, to calm down.

“Balthazar, I see you found an open man-hole cover and decided to crawl out.” he greets pleasantly, adding a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes.

“Hmph, hello to you too.” Balthazar replies snidely.

“Mind taking your arm off of my fiancé and your ass out of our bed?” Dean says voice calm but tense. “Actually, just get out. Cas and I need to talk.”

“Dean,” Castiel says weakly. “Balthazar was just checking on me. He won’t linger.”

Dean’s heart sinks at the sight and sound of his beloved. The usually robust djinni, always alert and focused, now slight and diminished with exhaustion weighing heavily on his beautiful face. More disturbing however are his eyes, the otherworldly vibrancy of Castiel’s blue, now dim.

“Don’t worry, Cassie.” Balthazar says tilting his head so that his lips press against Castiel’s temple. “I’m going to make you better.” He vows and looks up, flashing Dean an angry glare. “I promise.” The next instant he’s gone, leaving Castiel nestled in a mound of pillows and a furious Dean, blustering.

“Sonofabitch!” Dean hisses under his breath. He gets on the bed and settles himself, adjusting innumerable pillows until he’s comfortably braced against them, delicately pulling Castiel until the djinni is lying partly on top him, back to chest. “Not feeling any better, baby?” He asks nuzzling the djinni’s neck.

“Mmm, I do now.” Castiel answers sinking further into the solid comfort of his Master’s hold.

“You sure?” Dean asks doubtfully, breathing him in.

Castiel takes a deep breath and exhales before replying. “Well, not _fully_ well, but better than earlier. I do believe my powers will come back.” He twists his neck to look Dean in the eye. “I’m just not certain how long it will take or, if they will restore fully.” He answers honestly.

Dean takes advantage of the awkward angel and kisses Castiel on the lips but keeps it short, still mindful of the djinni’s momentary frailness. “So long as you feel better, Cas. Magic or no, I just want you healthy.”

The djinni twists further in Dean’s arms until he's facing him fully. He screws his face up and asks, “But Master, what kind of djinni would I make without my powers?” Then mutters under his breath. “A very poor example of one, I should think.”

“Cas, I heard that.” Dean says seriously. He lays an open palm over Castiel’s cheek and leans in for another delicate press of lips. “Cas, you are more than just your powers. Fuck, baby, you’re the most amazing person I’ve ever met. I love you, not because of your powers, or what you can do for me, but because of the way I feel when I’m with you. Alive, happy, loved.” He reassures.

“Master.” The djinni sighs, shy smile playing on his lips, eyes sparkling with held back tears. “You bring me great joy too.”

Dean returns his smile and they settle into their previous positions. He runs the fingers from one hand through the djinni’s bangs and kisses his head, tracing the outline of his well-defined abs with the other.

“Master.” Castiel says after a short while. “Dean?” He tries again when he doesn’t get a response.

“Hm, oh sorry. What’s up, baby?” Dean, lost in his thoughts, finally replies, turning his focus back to the djinni in his arms.

“I do feel slightly better.” Castiel starts. “And my powers may still fully restore before we set off to Kasha. However, I believe it would be most prudent to factor in my diminished abilities into our plans.” Then adds quickly, “Just in case.”

He feels Dean stiffen noticeably against him and pouts at the loss of his caresses. He twists around, again, to look at his Master. “What is it, Dean?”

Dean doesn’t answer immediately. He looks back at his djinni, jaw clenched, brow furrowed. After a beat, he raises his hand and grabs the short hairs on the back of Castiel’s head, and tugs. “There won’t be a need to factor in your lack of abilities, Cas.” He remarks casually.

“Dean, we need to be prepared. We have to formulate a plan that will enable us to counter any magic that this ambassador might try to use against us. Without my powers, how can I-“

“You won’t be needing your powers.” Dean insists, cutting Castiel off. “Because you’re not going.”

“Of course I am. I’m to lead the team.” Castiel reminds him, eyes narrowing, wondering how his Master could have possibly forgotten.

“Oh, they’ll still _think_ it’s you heading this assignment. But, it won’t actually be _you_ because without your powers…well…”

It becomes suddenly clear to him, the reason for his debilitating weakness and Dean’s odd behavior. But the knowledge is like a physical blow, a punch to the gut. Castiel gasps, actually short of breath when the air is sucked out of him. “No, Dean.” He croaks, throat suddenly dry. “You cannot do this.”

When Dean doesn’t argue, his understanding is complete. “You did this. You took my powers. You-“

“Cas, no. It’s not like that.” Dean races to explain. “I…my body…I don’t know. I just wanted more power. As much as you could give me so that I could be stronger, for you, for the mission. I did it for you, to keep you out of harm’s way. I didn’t think you’d be left completely powerless. You gotta believe me.” He implores, heart plummeting at the look of shock and horror distorting Castiel’s face.

After a short tense pause, Dean plows on. “Cas, I didn’t do it on purpose. I would never hurt you, baby. It’s, I-I pulled too hard. Took too much. Please, I’m sorry.” He pleads digging his fingers painfully into the djinni’s biceps.

“Give them back, Dean. Give me back my powers.” Castiel growls all signs of his decrepitude, vanished, pushed aside.

Dean shakes his head. “No.” He says firmly surging forward to bring their mouths together, kissing Castiel and swallowing his protests before he can voice them.

The djinni struggles to free himself, pushing with frail arms against Dean’s solid chest. It’s no use, his body betrays him, willingly opening up to his Master's embrace, but after a brief tangle of tongues, Dean loosens his hold.

“Dean, I will not let you do this. I’ll tell Sam and he and Gabriel will stop you.” Castiel warns voice a breathless rasp.

“Baby, they won’t know.” Dean states simply, casual shrug of his shoulder making it a fact. He leans in to kiss the djinni one more time, and blinks.

From the interior of Castiel’s bottle, Dean can hear the djinni shout and storm.

“Master! Dean! Let me out!” He roars. “You must not do this! Please!”

Dean takes the bottle and presses his lips to it, laying a gentle kiss to the cool surface. “Cas, you gotta understand, nothing can happen to you. I have no choice.” He whispers into the opening. “I need to keep you safe. I _need you_ to be safe. Don’t you get it? I…I can’t lose you. So please, just stay calm and I’ll let you out when we get back, okay.”

He takes the bottle, handling it gently, and places it on top of his dresser. Taking a step back and turning a deaf ear to Castiel’s cries, he blinks again, making the bottle invisible to all, except himself.

…

Once downstairs, Dean makes his way back into the kitchen. He readied himself earlier, and is well prepared to face his brother and Gabriel with an excuse for Castiel’s absence.

He walks into the kitchen, words already forming on his lips, but stops short upon entering. “The fuck you still doing here?” He asks Balthazar with an angry growl.

The djinni scowls, clearly offended. “Talking with Gabriel, the brother you haven’t fucked up.” He sneers.

“Ah, Dean, Balthazar was just about to tell us of a way for Cas to get his powers back that doesn’t involve you, um, you know, having to be physical with him.” Sam says trying his best not to sound squeamish.

“You guys aren’t seriously talking about my sex life.”

“Don’t flatter yourself. We’re talking about Castiel and his current condition and how to remedy it.” Balthazar snaps back.

“Well, don’t think too hard on it. Cas is fine. He’s just taking it easy for the next couple of days.” Dean tells them.

“Dean, we don’t have a couple of days.” Sam informs him. “The ambassador is in town and wants to meet with Cas. Tomorrow. First thing.” He stresses, pointing out how very fucked up their already fucked up assignment has gotten.

“He’s here? How? When?” Dean splutters.

“Dad called when you were upstairs. Says Cas has to report first thing to give the Emir a personally guided tour of the base.” He quiets when it seems Dean’s about to say something. But after a brief moment of watching his brother struggle internally, he continues in a more cautious tone. “He also said he expects a contingency plan set in place that will handle this new, ah, obstacle. No excuses.”

Dean’s expression darkens while the djinn’s mood turns pensive.

He walks over to the refrigerator and pulls out a beer, uncaps it and takes a long pull before speaking. “No can do.” He says with a shake of his head. “Cas isn’t well enough. I’ll be the guide.” He offers instead, making the statement with a forced air of casualness.

The other men gawk, staring at Dean with mixed looks of shock and scorn.

“Don’t think that’ll fly, fly-boy.” Gabriel quips. “If this Emir is our dad, and if dad asked for Cas, you can bet your pretty green eyes, that he’ll get Cas.”

Dean glowers at him but doesn’t argue.

“Dean, Gabe’s right. The mission’s parameters might have changed, but the objective’s still the same. The Emir will give us the phinkilium only if Cas is present and leader of this team.” Sam reminds him.

Dean gulps down the rest of his drink before slamming the empty bottle down on the counter. “No, Sam. He’s on our turf now and we get to the set rules-“

“Are you deranged?” Balthazar asks voice full of disdain. “Or, are you just delusional? You can’t dictate how things are supposed to pan out to our father.” He looks over to his brother for approval, and continues at Gabriel’s nod. “Whether you like it or not, we all have roles to play. It’s all been foretold.”

Dean wants to argue, lash out against destiny and prophesies, but instead bites his tongue and concedes Balthazar’s point. He takes a moment to mull over the new information and after a beat looks over to the djinn and says, “Maybe if one of you speak to him first, then I cou-“

He’s cut off by the sound of their laughter.

When he has himself under control, Balthazar says, “Stop right there. I’m afraid you must have us confused with the djinni that’s in love with you.” he snorts and giggles.

“Yeah, Captain, you know the one, dark messy hair and big baby blues.” Gabriel helps to clarify, narrowing his eyes to glare daggers at the astronaut, adding in a low hiss, “The one you’ve crippled.”

“You know what, fuck you and fuck off. I don’t need your help.” Dean snarls at the pair. “Sam, we’re going with my plan.”

“No.” Sam refuses. “Dean, Cas was right to argue about this. It’s too dangerous. Look, if you say Cas can’t make it, well then, I won’t push it. So I suggest we fess up. I mean, not completely. We go in and tell the Emir that Cas isn’t well, but that he’ll be glad to meet with him here, instead.” He blurts out quickly.

Dean exhales sharply, shoulders slumping in defeat. “Fine.” He spits out, voice a low murmur, mouth a tight straight line, certain they’re making a huge mistake, but nonetheless relieved that Castiel won’t be attending the meeting. “Tell them I’ll be there first thing.” He turns and walks back towards his bedroom, readying himself to confront his sure to be pissed off fiancé.

…

“What the hell, man? Can’t take a hint? Out!” Dean snaps in frustration, aggravated to find Balthazar, once again, in his bedroom.

“Gladly. But first I want to reassure my dear brother that I’m still working on his cure.” He explains stubbornly holding his ground. “That he hasn’t been abandoned, at least not by me.” He adds, the hidden meaning a purposeful jab at Dean’s uncharacteristically casual attitude towards Castiel’s predicament.

“Like I told you,” Dean bristles. “Cas just needs a little bit of a rest. He’d be getting it too if you didn’t keep popping in at all hours, uninvited.” He stabs back.

“Yes, so you keep saying. However, if you don’t mind, and even if you do, I’d like to hear it from his own pretty mouth.” Balthazar looks around, completely ignoring Dean’s increasing agitation, and points at the empty bed. “Speaking of, where is he?”

_Fuck!_ Dean thinks. He swallows and walks over to the closet, opens the door and removes his over shirt in an attempt to stall. He blinks, facing away from the djinni’s scrutiny and turns to walk towards the closed bathroom door. He raps on the door gently and waits for a response. When he doesn’t get one, he raps again, more forcibly and says, “Cas, how you doing in there?”

“Better. This bath is doing wonders for me, Master.” Castiel’s _voice_ answers.

From where they’re standing, Dean and Balthazar can hear his happy humming and the sound of water splashing.

Balthazar walks up to the door and taps on it gently. “Cassie, mind if I come in?” He asks looking over his shoulder and frowning at Dean’s suspicious fidgeting. “Don’t worry, I won’t tire him.” He says in a low voice and turns the knob when Castiel invites him in.

Dean watches their interaction from the door, back leaning against the door-jam, arms folded over his chest, silently admiring how convincing his illusionary Castiel appears, sounds, and acts, while Balthazar spends a few minutes sitting on the tub’s edge, swearing oaths and fawning over his suspiciously well brother.

Moments later, Balthazar’s still unconvinced but nevertheless gets up to leave. He passes Dean on his way out, and shoots him a frigid grin. “Guess I’ll see you in the morning.” He says to the astronaut from the bedroom’s open door. “Be well Cassie. I’ll be back tomorrow.” He says and exits.

Dean sighs, exhaling a big whoosh in relief as soon as the door closes, springs from his spot and dashes over to the dresser. He blinks and stares warily at the once again visible bottle. “Ah, Cas?” He says cautiously. “Baby?” He prods with a note of worry when he doesn’t get an immediate response.

“I’m not talking to you. I’m upset.” The djinni yells from the confines of his prison. “And I don’t think it would be wise to –“ Castiel stops, cut-off when Dean appears in his bottle standing directly in front of him with an overly large bouquet of roses. The djinni frowns, crosses his arms directly in front of his chest, hands clasped tightly to his forearms, and blinks with an exaggerated nod of his head.

“Argh!” Dean yelps jumping back and dropping the writhing bouquet of snakes that have replaced his flowers, gaping at them dumbly as they slither off. “Cas!” He whoops, eyes widening when he realizes the implications of what just happened. “Your powers, they’re back?” He asks eyes wide with hope.

Castiel replies by blinking again and again, an elaborate flourish that renders Dean mute: gag strapped around his jaw, kneeling with hands bound behind his back, and completely nude except for a blindfold tied around his head.

Unfortunately, the intricate display of power leaves the djinni fatigued, drained. He collapses but steels himself to continue, refusing to give in to his body’s slow pace to recovery. He pauses for a moment, silently gets his breathing under control and on all fours, crawls towards his Maste.

“Mmmphft!” Dean moans around the black silicone ball stuffed in his mouth, blind to Castiel’s weakened state.

“Shh…” Castiel shushes pressing a slender finger against Dean’s brow, irritated that the overexertion has left him again, powerless. “Dean,” He says with a note of danger, steadfastly ignoring his growing exhaustion as he nears his fiancé’s prone figure. “As your soon-to-be-husband, I feel I have every right to show you exactly how tormented I have felt these endless hours. I did try to warn you to let me be.” He tuts. “But now that you’re here, I’ve got a much better way to communicate just how upset your behavior has left me.” He whispers these last words directly against the rapidly beating pulse in Dean’s neck, warm puffs of breath making all of the small hairs on the astronaut’s body stand on end and his dick, perk up considerably.

Castiel, now on his knees, slots his thigh between Dean’s, forcing his legs to spread wider; the erotic sight of his Master trussed and vulnerable, sends a powerful jolt of desire through the djinni and unable to resist, leans in, licks a long path up Dean’s straining neck and bites.

“Your betrayal stunned me." he continues. "Left me feeling helpless, useless, impotent.” He growls, forcing his hand between Dean’s legs, feeling around blindly for his Master’s dick. He takes it in hand, and begins to stroke it slowly, long lazy swipes bringing it to full hardness.

“Hmmpfft!” Dean groans through the gag, throwing his head back, exposing more of his muscular neck for the djinni to ravage, while bucking helplessly into the loose hold of his fist.

Castiel’s reaction is immediate and punishing. He tangles his fingers in Dean’s hair and yanks, burying his face against the taut line of his Master’s throat, biting and sucking at the tender flesh, teeth leaving behind deep impressions, tongue poking out to soothe the bruised skin.

“Grunnnnffft!” Dean grunts, body shuddering from Castiel’s attack, quivering limbs held up solely by the djinni’s will.

“Dean…” Castiel sighs softly into the crook of his neck, peppering the skin with tiny kisses, head getting drunk on the sweetness of his Master’s skin, body buzzing from the unbridled power he can feel strumming beneath the surface. His breath catches in his throat when a sharp current of electricity surges through his veins and instinctively wraps Dean in a protective, _possessive_ , hold until the feeling subsides.

“Master.” He says in a soft hushed voice, eyes widening in awe from what he just experienced, at the miraculous rejuvenation of his fatigued body. He laces his fingers around Dean’s waist, and presses him flush against his chest, blinking both gag and blindfold away.

“Cas,” Dean sobs, still ignorant of his fiancé’s precarious condition. “Please-“

Castiel, already knowing his Master’s desires, quiets him with a brutal kiss, deep, wet and dirty, all teeth and tongue, swallowing all of Dean’s whimpers, inhaling his gasps, breathing him in, finally pulling away when the ache from his own dick, pressed flat against their bodies, becomes too powerful to ignore.

“Dean, I…what was I saying?” he asks, chuckling at his obvious lack of self control and discipline when it comes to his Master. “Oh, yes, um…as your betrothed…I know I have rights. However, as your, ah, djinni…they are f-forfeit.” He stutters barely making any sense when the ridged flesh of his trapped cock drags against his Master’s.

“Cas-” Dean interrupts. “I’m sorry, baby, I-“ he stammers, head reeling with pleasure, but pushes on with his apology, fighting his arousal and the soon to follow loss of coherent thinking. He lowers his head and reminds himself of his shameful actions, of how disgracefully he treated the one person he’s supposed to honor, respect, and love.

He knows he can easily free himself with magic, but his shame and self-loathing keep him bowed, submissive, kneeling, and he gladly welcomes the bite and sting of the ropes burning into his wrists. The fact that he’s still painfully hard is an unexpected but pleasant reaction to Castiel unintentionally triggering anther one of his kinks; the djinni’s display of dominance, the sweet agony from the restraints, and his thoroughly vulnerable position, secretly thrills him.

Taking a deep breath, he wills his arousal to abate, to at least offer the semblance of self-remorse and show that he’s appropriately chastised. “I hope you can forgive me.” he says sheepishly, eyes lowered, bottom lip quivering the slightest bit.

Castiel answers by reaching around his Master’s back and untying him. He takes Dean’s arms to wrap around his own waist but stops, tutting softly when he sees ugly red welts forming on his wrists. “Master…” he coos, gingerly guiding the damaged skin to his lips, kissing them softly, first one then the other, and blinks, all the while rubbing soothing circles around the beloved flesh. “Better?” he asks softly, all his previous anger, replaced by the immediate need to comfort and make well.

Dean nods and Castiel smiles, resting his Master’s healed hands on his hips and raising his own arms to wrap around Dean’s neck, deepening their embrace, bodies flush from chest to thigh.

“Master?” Castiel says, small furrow between his brows, slight tilt of his head. “As your djinni, you don’t need to apologize. I’m still yours and will never forget my station.” He whispers the words, almost sighing them between the narrow space separating their lips, shamelessly grinding his erection against Dean’s hip.

_Fuck!_

Dean wants to tell Castiel that he’s wrong, that he desperately wishes he could take back what he did. To convince the djinni that they’re equals, that he’s just as much a slave, if not more so, to Castiel, than the djinni is to him. But he’s finding it near impossible to think straight, thanks to the djinni’s very distracting gyrations.

“Cas, I really fucked up. I fucked up royally, okay. You... you’re perfect, baby.” He says voice heavy with emotion. “Please, just…don’t blame yourself, never blame yourself. Don’t ever think that you’re inferior or below me. Fuck, if anything I’m the one that should be groveling at your feet.” He insists hands groping and squeezing the firm muscles of the djinni’s back.

Castiel scowls, brows knitted tightly together. “Master!” He says sternly, the gravel rough pitch of his voice making Dean’s dick jerk from where it’s pressed between them. Castiel feels it and smiles, face softening with affection. “You never have to prostrate yourself for me, beloved.” He says sweetly dropping his arms to Dean’s shoulders, grateful to mask his weariness as an excuse to be held.

They remain that way for a long while; clinging to each other, sharing and trading deep sensual kisses, enjoying the mingling of their different flavors, inhaling the other’s special scent.

Castiel quickly regains more of his strength from these shared tastes, so when Dean asks if he can blink them back to their bedroom, the djinni’s able to answer, honestly, that he can.

…

They talk, _mostly_ , into the early hours of the night, finally collapsing from the exhaustion of their physical and verbal wrestling.

Not long after they’re back in their bedroom, Dean notices, contrary to what the djinni told him, that Castiel isn’t, as he so delicately put it, ‘firing from both barrels’, and outright forbids him, again, from participating in the following morning’s meeting with the Emir.

For his part, Castiel counters Dean’s command, refusing, as he put it, ‘to bow to his Master’s will.’

They’re at an impasse.

But for Dean, the solution is a simple one. He orders Castiel to back off and threatens to go straight to his brothers, if he doesn’t. That he will tell them of his continuing vulnerable state, and with their aid, force his cooperation.

Unfortunately, when he explains his predicament to Gabriel and Balthazar the following morning, his plan backfires miserably.

“You selfish prick, just give him back his powers!” Gabriel’s voice booms, power reverberating through him, rattling the walls and shattering the windows.

“No.” Dean says calmly, gaze unwavering, unimpressed with the older djinni’s display of strength.

“Gabriel.” Castiel yells over the deafening clatter, trying to get his brother’s attention and stop him before his tantrum brings the walls down around them.

Gabriel doesn’t move, but the house stills and quiets. “Cassie?”

“It’s no use, brother.” Castiel says shooting his Master a narrowed eyed glare that Dean refuses to meet. “I’m not going, _today._ ” He pointedly stresses. “Just please, take care of him, for me.”

“What, no! I don’t-“ Dean starts to argue.

“Dean, just because your body has transformed my power into an energy force that can rival Michael’s, doesn’t mean it could ever challenge Hajji’s or Crowley’s.” Castiel says truthfully, quieting his Master with the bluntness of the statement. “You will concede this stipulation to me. If I cannot be with you, then I insist that Gabriel and Balthazar flank you and with their combined strength, be there to pull you out of harm’s way, if it should come to that.”

“Cas-“

“My decision is final, Dean.” The djinni states grimly, delivering his ultimatum with a steely glower. “As your betrothed, if not as your djinni, please, acquiesce.”

Dean looks around the room, stares down Gabriel’s stormy glare and Balthazar’s amused smirk. When his eyes land on Sam, it’s the stress pinching his brother’s features that finally has him conceding in defeat. With shoulders stooped and head bowed, he agrees to Castiel’s terms. “Fine.” He says quietly, all the fight gone out of him.

…

An hour later, Sam and Gabriel leave for their condo, racing back to get their gear and prepare for the Emir’s arrival.

Balthazar leaves shortly after them mumbling something about being late for an important meeting and assuring them that he would be ready when they need him.

As for Dean and Castiel, after a few words of comfort shared between love-filled kisses, Dean leaves for the base.

…

Once the house is empty, Castiel, seeking a way to comfort his frayed nerves and cool his simmering unease, climbs back into the still rumbled side of Dean’s, _their_ , bed, grabbing his Master’s pillow and pressing it to his face.

“Brother!” Castiel yelps when a dip in the bed announces Balthazar’s presence. “Why are you back? I thought you had an important meeting?”

“Nah, all a ruse. I just said that to throw your dear Master off track.” He whispers conspiratorially, impish grin curling his lips. “My darling brother,” He announces to the rolling beat of a phantom drum, voice ringing loud and proud. “I’ve got a plan that will get your powers fully restored and quite possibly heightened!”

Castiel cocks a disapproving brow at his brother’s maniacal declaration, but undeniably curious, asks, “Balthazar, what exactly do you have in mind?” 


	13. Guess Who's Coming to Dinner

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Well, enough about my troubles.” He says, abruptly changing the subject and turning his full attention on Castiel. “I must say, it’s truly a blessing that you have been returned to us, Castiel. You have been dearly missed, especially after that fiasco between Michael and Lucifer.” He frowns, wisely omitting any comments he might have about Hajji and his role in the battles waged between his eldest sons and the havoc they wrought. “With our most powerful djinn scattered, the kingdom has not been the same.” He remarks sadly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did quite a bit of research on the djinn and their significance in the Arab culture. I hope I got it right, but if I didn't, please let me know, and I will immediately make corrections.  
> As for my translations, I hope I got those right too.  
> Fingers crossed!

“Zachariah? Our grand uncle Zachariah?” Castiel asks in disbelief. “Brother, you can’t be serious.”

“Oh yea of so little faith.” Balthazar replies with an exaggerated roll of his eyes. “Of course Zachariah! He’s fully capable of recharging you. You know how highly he ranks amongst the djinn and how much he favors you.” He reminds Castiel leaning closer to wrap a comforting arm around his brother’s tensed shoulder. “How he groomed you to be his perfect little duplicate so that someday you could rule in his stead. How he insisted to Hajji that you be the one to take over his post.” He adds persuasively.

Castiel wriggles out of Balthazar’s hold and turns to look at his brother. “That was a lifetime ago, Balthazar.” He says with a pained expression, looking younger, vulnerable, propping his head on his drawn up knees. “I highly doubt Zachariah still favors me as his successor.” He adds quietly.

“P-shaw.” Balthazar scoffs dismissing his brother’s apprehensions.

“What was that?” Castiel asks, head snapping towards the bedroom door when the sounds of shuffling and raised voices reach them from the lower level, alerting them to the presence of a large gathering.

“Hm? What noise?” Balthazar deflects. “Fine, alright.” He exclaims at Castiel’s withering glare. “I may have already popped in for a visit with our dear old uncle. And, I may have already mentioned your unfortunate condition to him. And he may have expressed great concern on your behalf. And he might have said something about coming right away.” He ends primly.

“You didn’t!” Castiel hisses under his breath, speaking low and hushed so as not to be overheard by the large group of djinn that seem to be assembling in the house’s living room, if the level of noise is anything to go by.

“Well, yes, I did. And stop looking at me like that. Best get used to the idea, Cassie, because, um, he may already be downstairs.” Balthazar replies with a touch of defiance.

And right on cue, the door bursts open.

When the dust settles they can see two overly muscled, bare chested heralds standing between the gaping hole that use to be the bedroom’s doorway, each wearing matching burgundy harem pants and turbans. Looking straight ahead, and without acknowledging them, the heralds step in, blare a long undulating note on their matching heavily tasseled horns and immediately step aside, falling on hands and knees and pressing their foreheads flat against the ground.

“Castiel!” Zachariah exclaims casually sauntering in, beaming at the sight of his favorite nephew. He walks right up to the ailing djinni, wrinkles his nose and tsks. “This will not do.” He complains and blinks. “Yes, much better.” The older djinni declares humming contentedly from his reclined position on a plush chaise he blinked next to Castiel’s bed.

“Hm, something’s still missing.” He comments absently and blinks. The next instant he’s inhaling deeply from a hookah perched on a nearby table and gesturing for Balthazar to join him. “Balthazar.” He says with a slight scowl. “I thought you said Castiel was not well. Seems to me like all he needs is a little bit of a power boost.”

Castiel and Balthazar share a wary look, both still stunned silent by their uncle’s overly dramatic entrance.

“Ah, hello grand uncle.” Castiel says, finally finding his voice. “How wonderful it is to see you again.”

“My dear boy, I would have come sooner, but alas, things in Oman have been quite turbulent lately. I’ve been renegotiating nonstop with the neighboring kingdom of Kasha over borders, of all things.”

“Did you say Kasha? But I thought our feud with them ended-“

“Yes, yes, the feud has mostly dwindled down to which clan can rightfully claim the rights to which speck of dirt, or who got where first and so forth. But now, those heathens also want sole control over who gets to enter Majlis al Jinn.” He squawks and chuckles at the ridiculousness of it.

“Well, enough about my troubles.” He says, abruptly changing the subject and turning his full attention on Castiel. “I must say, it’s truly a blessing that you have been returned to us, Castiel. You have been dearly missed, especially after that fiasco between Michael and Lucifer.” He frowns, wisely omitting any comments, he might have about Hajji and his role in the battles waged between his eldest sons and the havoc they wrought. “With our most powerful djinn scattered, the kingdom has not been the same.” He remarks sadly.

Castiel winces from the hidden message and deliberate jab in his uncle’s words. “I apologize for any difficulties you may have suffered because of my disobedience.” He replies remembering how Crowley threatened to overthrow his uncle’s realm for his and Jeannie’s faithlessness and how Michael’s battles against Lucifer laid waste to many of his beautiful gardens.

Zachariah looks steadily at his nephew, eyes solemn but mouth soft. “Never mind all of that. Here and now, we can start anew. But first…” He pauses and blinks himself next to Castiel’s side. Then reaches out to press two outstretched fingers against Castiel’s temple, and blinks.

Castiel closes his eyes at the firm pressure, breath hitching when heat, like fire, surges thickly through his body, a long moment later, body still thrumming, he falls back against his pillows, limbs heavy, head buzzing. When he pries his eyes open, Zachariah is back in his previous position, reclining comfortably and accepting his pipe back from Balthazar.

“Better?” He asks when Castiel glances his way, noting with a touch of reverence the glowing blue of his nephew’s eyes and how they pulse with renewed energy; their brightness only hinting to his growing power and its potential to get stronger.

“I feel…I’m…” Castiel stammers and pauses, thrilling in the potency of his renewed well-being. “Wondrous. Perfect. Thank you, uncle.” He says gratefully and blinks. The next instant he’s standing by the still kneeling heralds, dressed in an officer’s uniform similar to Dean’s sans any sign of rank.

“Cassie, wait!” Balthazar shouts in alarm, rushing to stop his brother from leaving.

“Uncle, thank you again for this gift. I’ll come to visit soon.” Castiel promises. He stares at Balthazar’s hand on his forearm and says, “Brother, I appreciate everything you’ve done for me, but _I am_ leaving and I’m afraid there’s nothing you can do to stop me.”

“Cas, you can’t leave. I promised Gabriel to-“

“Promised Gabriel?” He asks confused. “Why would Gabriel make you promise to keep me here? It’s because of Crowley, isn’t?” Castiel whispers answering his own question when he gets none from his brother. He rolls his eyes and turns to leave only to find his path blocked by the two now standing heralds. “Uncle?” He asks, turning back to Zachariah.

“Sit back down, Castiel. We’re not done here.” He says, delivering the order with a forced smile that does nothing to ease the building pressure in the room. “Indulge your uncle, son. Come here.” He pats the seat next to him and waits for his nephew to join him. “Now, answer a few things for me before popping off, will you?” He says, voice gentle but with an underlying intensity.

…

“Wait. What?” Sam asks pausing in his packing to look over at his djinni.

“I said I’ll join you later. I’m gonna go check on Cassie first.” Gabriel repeats.

"But we just left there. Besides, Dean said he’s resting. You can visit him tonight, ‘kay.”

Gabriel walks over to his Master, grips Sam’s very impressive biceps, and stands on his toes, placing a sweet moist kiss on his lips. “I didn’t really get to talk with my brother earlier. I’m worried, okay. And I…I don’t want to let him down, again.” He finally admits. “I need to make sure he’s getting better. I’ll see you later, and anyway, you guys don’t need me at the base until that Emir guy shows up. We got plenty of time. But right now, Cas needs me.”

Sam bends low, wraps his arms around Gabriel’s waist and hoists him up. “Fine.” He relents, kissing the djinni soundly in return, sparing a few precious moments to neck in earnest before breaking apart and going their separate ways.

“See you later!” Sam calls from the condominium’s doorway.

“Call if you need me!” Gabriel shouts from their bedroom. When he hears the door close, he blinks himself to his brother’s side.

…

“So this Dean, he’s the Master that rescued you? And he also wants to marry you?” Zachariah asks with a note of skepticism. “You know it’s very rare for a Master to want to bind themselves so wholly to their djinni, Castiel. Does he understand that as your betrothed, your roles may reverse?”

The djinni looks down, cheeks deepening in tinge, chewing guiltily at his bottom lip. “Dean…he knows that our bond, even unwedded, is more _profound_ than most. I have expressed my concerns that being mated grants me privileges that are equal to his.” Castiel explains looking up to meet his uncle’s hard to read gaze. “Although, he may not be fully aware that once are vows are complete, I will be firmly in control over his will and that he will no longer be in complete control over mine. But, I would never force my will upon his.” He swears. “I love him. We are equals. We are one.” He insists repeating Dean’s earlier vows.

“I’m not so sure I agree with your overly sappy assessment of your relationship, brother dear.” Balthazar interjects. “You may not be as in control as you fear. You forgot to tell our uncle about that one tiny little fact that changes up the game quite nicely for your beloved.” He goads and pauses, waiting for his brother to catch up. “Seriously, nothing?” Balthazar asks, exasperated when all he gets in return is a blank stare.

“You won’t be able to control him either, you nit, because he’s the chosen one.” Gabriel fills in, standing in newly restored doorway.

Castiel _ohs_ in understanding while Balthazar throws his hands up in the air as if to say _took you long_ _enough._

“Gabriel, come, let me look at you.” Zachariah says, artfully changing the subject by drawing the djinni’s attention.

“Uncle Zach!” Gabriel answers striding across the room, stopping next his uncle’s seat and bowing reverently.

"Nephew." Zachariah's lips curl in a cold smile, eyes sweeping over the djinni, studying and unnerving him with his unblinking stare. "It's a great pleasure seeing you again. Why, it must be, what, at least two thousand years?" He says with more than a bit of accusation in his tone.

"Yeah, where does the time go?" Gabriel jokes, hoping to dodge all of the very uncomfortable questions he’s certain are on the tips of everybody’s tongues in regards to his behavior after Hajji ordered Michael to banish Lucifer, as well as his disturbing distancing from Jeannie and Castiel when they were sentenced to such an unjust imprisonment; at the time, his abrupt disappearance and blatant absence, delivered an almost lethal deathblow to the Marid and their ranking amongst the djinn hierarchy.

Zachariah snorts and pats the seat next to him. "Come, we were just catching up."

Gabriel holds his hands up and takes a step back. 'S'okay, I’m good here. Not a big fan of getting blinked back into that moat full of your 'pets'.” He answers referring to Zachariah's fondness for showing his displeasure by powering down disobedient djinn and immersing them in the sea-serpent infested lake surrounding his palace.

“Oh my dear Gabriel, what has happened to you? You used to be very fond of my little jokes.” Zachariah says in lieu of an apology and shrugs as if to say _suit yourself_.

“Really Gabriel, you’re not still upset about that. You know you had it-“

Gabriel launches himself, unapologetically, on top of Balthazar’s outstretched legs. The move instantly eases the tension from their uneasy reunion.

“Argh! Brother,” Balthazar heaves. “As much as I would love a bit of a snog, I don’t think this is the time, or the place.” He quips. “Oh what the hell.” He sighs and grabs Gabriel by the back of the head, planting a very loud kiss on his lips.

“Yuck! Get off! I’m telling Sammy!” Gabriel mock-threatens.

“Go right ahead and I’ll tell that behemoth that it was you who started it, so _you_ get off.” Balthazar counters pushing him up and off.

Gabriel falls with a heavy thud on the wooden floor and threatens vengeance.

“Those two certainly haven’t changed.” Zachariah comments as Gabriel and Balthazar wage battle with sabers that morph into long ostrich feathers. The feathers elicit a tickling match that in turn prompts one of them, it’s not clear which one, to transform the room’s décor into a giant bouncy castle complete with inflatable swords and other assorted balloon weaponry.

“Ah, yes, my brothers always did have a fondness for ‘rough-housing’, as my future father-in-law likes to say of his own sons."

Zachariah stares at Castiel, studying him for a beat before speaking. “Castiel, just as your brother’s character traits haven’t changed in all of these long years, yours seems to have, I wouldn’t say changed, per say, so much as evolved. Yes, you’ve matured nicely, you’re more confident, strong, and decisive. Exactly the qualities Oman needs in its future leader.” He stresses voice calm and sure, eyes sparkling with excitement.

“You still want me to take your post?” Castiel asks eyes widening in shock. “After everything that’s happened? I don’t understand why you would. My father and Michael and-“

“Enough, Castiel. I meant it when I said that the past is forgotten. The here and now is what matters. What we can control and what we do to make amends, is the real issue. ” He says, the words are meant to reassure, but his shark like grin conveys his true intent. “However, before I can make any final decisions, I want to meet this Master of yours. I want to know the man that has so enamored my strong willed nephew.” He grasps Castiel’s hand between his and squeezes it gently. “Dean, right?”

Castiel nods but doesn’t interrupt.

“Castiel, if he is the _one_ , then the power that you two could wield together, why, it would rival…Crowley’s.” He realizes. “Yes, if it came down to it, you and your mate could topple that despot’s El Yakman’s empire, once and for all.”

Castiel reflects a moment on the validity of his uncle’s claims, adrenalin pumping through his body with the confirmation of Crowley’s whereabouts and secretly thrilled that as a team, he and Dean will be strong enough to overthrow the powerful Shaitan.

He thinks back on his first meeting with Dean and has to agree with his uncle’s assessment; that his power has been steadily bleeding into his Master since day one, that he has been unwittingly transferring his powers to Dean from the beginning. He didn’t dwell on the oddity of those sensations at first, being completely overwhelmed with _want_ and _desire_ , desperate to bond permanently with his new Master, all other thoughts or worries pushed aside and forgotten, until now.

He also acknowledges the simple truth that when Dean freed him, his power was so great it was almost tangible, a separate entity, something he had to tame and control. But as soon as he physically touched his Master, his powers seemed to lessen and ease up. It wasn’t an obvious surge then, but the intensity of their connection, from their very first meeting, serves to verify this conclusion.

But if he and Dean continue to be intimate (Hah! of course they will!) and Dean continues to ask for power, and Castiel gives it, then does that mean he’ll eventually be left powerless? Left empty, no longer a djinni, less than human. If that’s the outcome and he’s no longer able to give his Master power, then will Dean leave him? Castiel shudders at the possibility.

He takes a deep breath and shakes himself, shrugging off the whirlwind of negative thoughts, and instead, reminds himself of Dean’s assurances and repeated declarations of deep love for his djinni. But regardless of his positive outlook, the fear of losing his powers still claws at him.

“Uncle Zachariah there’s something I’d like to get your opinion on. It’s something that I’ve only just realized.” Castiel says nervously, throat parched and voice shaky but continues at Zachariah’s expectant look. “Ah, well, when I was first able to leave my bottle, after Dean rubbed it, I felt…well, powerful. My powers felt heightened, more so than they had been before or during all of my imprisonment. I experienced strength akin to the way I felt when you healed me. I felt, feel powerful, very powerful.” He stresses. “I hadn’t used my powers for thousands of years, of course,” He allows. “So I had nothing to gauge them against, but now…” He quiets waiting to see if his uncle is able to supply the rest or at least offer an explanation to his unique condition.

“Castiel,” Zachariah says in a low confidential voice. “I did not give you extra powers, son. That is beyond my abilities. I only spurred the powers you already have to manifest at a faster pace. “I believe what you experienced, my dear boy, was a siphoning of your powers. "Yes, I know,” he holds up a hand, preempting Castiel’s protest. “Believe me, I know our laws better than most. And yes, it’s impossible for another to take a djinni’s powers, unless it’s Hajji or one Hajji deems worthy, such as your Master, apparently. Castiel, Dean, he...well there really is no delicate way to put this, he ‘milked’ you, sucked you dry.” He elaborates, snorting at how red Castiel’s cheeks burn.

“Of course you will never be powerless, your powers are constantly regenerating. Actually the more you use them, or hand them over freely to your Master, the stronger you become. However, if they are taken from you, which is impossible, except by the _one,_ well then, you will be weakened, if only momentarily.”

Castiel exhales in relief. He will never be powerless; will always be of use, a source of power for his Master, whose affinity for his own magic, has grown considerably since he first practiced it.

“Castiel, it would please me greatly if you and your Master watch over Oman in my absence. Will you do this great favor for me?” Zachariah asks going back to his original point.

“Yes, of course Uncle.” Castiel marvels, agreeing to his uncle’s request without hesitation.

The prospect of giving his soon-to-be-husband a kingdom as a wedding gift leaves him honored and awed.  _What better gift than that?_ His internal voice squeals happily.

“My Master will be home later. Perhaps we can all dine together and you will see for yourself what a wonderful Master he is and-“

“I want to meet him now, Castiel.” Zachariah orders. “I have waited, as I suspect we all have, long enough.”

“I’m sorry, uncle, but he’s working on a very special mission today, and mustn’t be interrupted.”

“I won’t take up too much of his time, I promise. But I am definitely meeting him now.” Decision made, Zachariah blinks the bouncy castle and all its paraphernalia away, waits for Gabriel and Balthazar to catch their breath and announces that he’s leaving and wants an escort.

“Sure, I’ll take you.” Gabriel immediately volunteers quickly thinking up a plan that will prevent Zachariah and the Emir from crossing paths and crosses his fingers, hoping it doesn’t come to that.

“Wait, no, I’ll take you.” Castiel protests also wanting to ensure that the two sworn enemies stay ignorant of the other’s presence.

“No.” Zachariah snaps. “I want to see how he behaves without your presence to tamper his reactions. Stay, or better yet, go for a short trip, here,” He blinks a bag full of gold coins into Castiel’s palm. “Go shopping. Get yourself something pretty from me. Use the money, it makes it more traditional and more old-fashioned. I’ll call when I’m back and we’ll chat some more.” He pats Castiel indulgently on the cheek and blinks himself, Gabriel, and his heralds away.

…

Gabriel tweaks his Uncle’s destination so that they land at the base, appearing in the office he shares with Sam. Sam isn’t there, probably on his way to meet with Benny before they join Dean.

So where’s Dean?

“Um, stay here for a minute, I’m gonna go see if I can find Dean and bring him back here.” He tells his uncle.

“Fine, I won’t wonder around. But be quick.” Zachariah warns and with a blink turns the Lieutenant’s office into a plush and extravagantly decorated lounge complete with attendants to wait on his every need. “I’ll just make myself comfortable.”

“Yeah, you do that.” Gabriel smirks and leaves.

Gabriel doesn’t take that long, he really doesn’t, but Zachariah is impatient. He wants to meet Dean, get him married to Castiel as soon as possible, and install them as the new rulers to his beloved realm immediately after their ceremony. Or at least until he returns from a much needed rest.

“I need a vacation.” He mumbles to himself, half opening his mouth to accept another ruby red grape from the delicate hand of a very beautiful serving girl. When she has given him the last from the bunch, he claps his hands and sends her away. “I’ve waited long enough.” He announces to no one in particular and stands.

But just as his heralds are about to open the door for him to leave, in walks Dean.

“Oh, ah…” He stops and looks around, taking in the office’s altered appearance, knowing it can only mean one thing. _Djinni._ “Sorry, I’m Captain Dean Winchester. You must be-“

“Yes, yes, I’m here for Castiel. I’m his grand uncle-“ Zachariah answers excitedly cutting Dean off before he has a chance to finish his question.

“Grand uncle? But I thought that you said son and-“ Dean cuts in, completely thrown off by Zachariah’s reference when John had specifically said El Yakman had used the word son.

“Yes, sometimes I will use the term son. It’s an endearment.” He explains. “Dean, it’s a pleasure to meet you, I have heard many good things about you.” Zachariah tells him and bows.

Dean’s eyes bug out at the gesture. “No, sir, please, I should be the one to…” He places his hands on Zachariah’s shoulders but jumps back when the two heralds, now holding scimitars with gleaming deadly edges, turn towards him, weapons raised threateningly over their heads, ready to strike.

“What?” Zachariah says, startled when Dean retreats. “Oh, never mind them.” He says dismissing Dean’s apprehension. “Put those things away.” He orders and turns back to Dean, shrugging his shoulders and huffing a long-suffering sigh. “They come with the job.”

“Sure, um, okay.” Dean replies, because even though this has to be the weirdest thing that has ever happened to him, _and he’s been through a lot of weird shit lately,_ he’s still got a job to do and he’s going to do it to the best of his abilities. So when in Rome, he too bows. “Salaam.” He says respectfully.

“Oh, no Captain, arise. The most high kneels to no one.”

Dean straightens and frowns. _Most high?_ But instead of questioning the odd term replies with, “Okay, so if you and your people will just follow me, I’ll get us started on the tour. Heh, not exactly sure where the rest of my team is but I’m sure they’ll be joining us momentarily.” He apologizes.

“A tour? Yes that would be lovely.” Zachariah says happily. “What better way to get to know the young man that will be marrying my nephew than to see where he works.”

Dean turns to him, a puzzled look on his face. “How did you know about our relationship? Did my father-“

“Your father? Never met the man, son. Castiel told me about your upcoming nuptials.”

“Cas? But when…he’s not here is he?” Dean asks now alarmed that this may be a trap.

“No, I sent him off on a little shopping spree so that we could meet and get to know each other without any interference. I mean…how else can I determine if you are worthy to marry my favorite nephew and to rule over my land?” He states matter of fact.

“Whoa! Rule? Huh?” Dean sputters.

“Are you alright?” Zachariah asks, real concern in his voice for the mental stability of his nephew’s potential mate. “I know my visit has come as a surprise, but now that we will be family…” He shrugs again.

“Family?” Dean asks, headache blooming from all the new twists and turns to this meeting. “So does this mean we’ll be getting the phinkilium?” He has to ask, hoping that this crazy turn of events means that their mission is accomplished and that he’s free to go back home, climb into bed, and let his djinni snuggle his aches away.

“Did you say phinkilium?” Zachariah asks praying he heard wrong.

“Um…yes.” Dean replies hesitantly, sadly realizing that their mission is definitely far from over.

“Phinkilium, from Kasha?” Zachariah clarifies, taking a step back and stopping between his two guards.

“Look, Emir, sir, I didn’t mean to be presumptuous. But when you mentioned-“

“Emir El Yakman?!” Zachariah shouts and points. “You’re dealing with that dripping goat’s penis?” He’s furious, incensed, and with a flick of his wrist, commands his guards to advance.

…

“Something’s wrong.” Castiel growls head snapping up so quickly that Balthazar startles, spilling his steaming hot chocolate all over his ivory down coat.

The blonde djinni glares at his brother, sets his mug on the table, and blinks the mess away. “Really, Castiel, do you have to be so dramatic? I was just about to order some of their älplermagronen. I hear it’s the best in all of Switzerland.” He confides rubbing his gloved hands eagerly.

They’re taking a break from their shopping spree, sitting at an outdoor café nestled at the base of Mt Dom, the highest of the Swiss Alps, surrounded by an array of designer shopping bags full to the brim with the spoils from their shopping excursion.

“Dramatic? Me? Seriously, Balthazar, how can you even say that with a straight face?” Castiel asks. “Never mind. I sense that something has gone...wrong. I’m not sure what, but I can feel my Master’s distress.” The explanation falling from his lips in a rush.

He pushes away from the table and gets up; with a snap of his fingers, the bags disappear. “Thank you for your concern and for your company.” He says, and vanishes before Balthazar tries to stop him.

“Damn it, Cassie.” Balthazar hisses and blinks himself back to Coco Beach, honing onto Gabriel’s trail to warn his brother of Castiel’s imminent arrival.

…

Dean’s so shocked and confused he doesn’t stop to defend himself against the deadly blades whistling towards his neck.

“Uncle, no!” Gabriel shouts and blinks, instantly transforming the scimitars into balloon swords.

The heralds stare dumbly at Dean, not quite understanding why his head is still attached to his neck.

“What happened? What did you do?” He turns on Dean.

“Me?” Dean asks trying to catch his breath, gesturing to Zachariah with his thumb. “It’s Yakman, he’s gone bat-shit. See this is why I didn’t let Cas come.” He spits out, feeling completely justified for his earlier shameful actions. “And you know what,” He says stepping right into the older djinni’s personal space, tapping into his surging power for confidence, not caring that the heralds are moving to block him. “I don’t care that you won’t play ball. We’ll figure out another way to run the General’s rocket. So you can take your precious phinkilium and shove it up your ass.” He snarls looking directly into Zachariah’s angry stare.

Gabriel breaks them apart, physically stepping in between the two men to push Dean back and away from an inevitable deathblow. “You stupid, stupid human.” He sneers. “You have just insulted the most powerful djinni you will ever come across, Hajji help us. The djinni that also happens to be responsible for Castiel’s current state of robust health.”

“Gabe, what the hell?” Dean spins on him completely at a loss. “You saying this joker isn’t the Emir?”

Gabriel shakes his head and fixes him with an angry glare, waiting patiently for Dean to put two and two together. At the Captain’s questioning look, he replies. “This is the great Zachariah Al-Malik, current ruler of the kingdom of Oman and Hajji’s greatest confident. The only one that still has any real communication with our father.”

“Alas, not for a long time now.” Zachariah says regretfully to Gabriel and then turns his focus back on Dean.

_Fuck!_

Dean holds his own, and even though he fears he’s made a grave error, he doesn’t look down or away and instead digs for courage. “Ah, Zachariah Al-Malik, sir.” He addresses him with respect. “I hope you can forgive everything I said earlier. I, um…I thought you were here to harm Castiel. I didn’t know. I’m sorry.”

Zachariah regards Dean, never breaking eye contact. “Yes, I believe you behaved in this shameful manner because you feared for my nephew.” He turns to his heralds and with a nod, they draw away. He turns back to Dean and extends his hand. “Let’s start again, Captain. I am Castiel’s great uncle, Zachariah, at your service.”

Dean takes his hand and pumps it enthusiastically, eager to get back on the right foot with his fiancé’s uncle. “A pleasure, sir.”

“Please, just Zachariah.” He says graciously.

“Zachariah, then.” Dean grins sighing internally with relief. “Thank you for helping Cas with his, ah, his weakened state.” Dean says trying desperately not to blush.

Zachariah waves his hand. “I didn’t really do much. Castiel was well on his way to full recovery. I just nudged it along, a bit.” He says humbly.

Gabriel clears his throat loudly to get their attention before an awkward silence can settle. “Um, uncle Zach, let’s go back to Cassie’s now, you and Dean can talk some more later after he’s done here, okay?”

Gabriel, unwittingly, reminds Zachariah why he was so upset with Dean in the first place.

“A moment, nephew.” He tells Gabriel and turns back to Dean. “Earlier, Dean, did you say El Yakman?” He asks shrewdly, tone pleasant, feigning calmness.

“Yeah.” Dean replies innocently not realizing that he’s just stepped into a trap. “Do you know him?”

“Know him? That man,” He spits. “That demon is a virus, a blight upon my land. You must not have any dealings with him. I forbid it!” Zachariah demands vehemently.

Dean’s taken aback by Zachariah’s sudden change. He knows he has to go through with the mission. There’s no way he won’t. No way he’s going to let his dad down. But, he also doesn’t want to anger Castiel’s uncle. Especially if he’s the one that has any say in his fiancé’s marital future. So he plows on but proceeds with great caution. “Sorry, sir, but I’m afraid that I have to meet with El Yakman, there’s no way I can’t. But-”

“Can’t or won’t.” Zachariah challenges.

Gabriel steps in quickly as the tension in the room skyrockets. “What Dean-o here means to say is that of course he’s not gonna meet with El Yakman, right?” He turns to Dean, signaling with his eyes for him to follow his lead and shut the fuck up.

Dean’s about to protest, but before he can so much as open his mouth, Gabriel jumps in again and silences him with a pointed look. “See, like I said, he’s not gonna. Now, let’s go, busy, busy, busy around here.” He tells Zachariah and takes him by the elbow to usher him out.

Zachariah allows Gabriel to take him by the arm, but never takes his eyes from Dean. “Very well, nephew, let’s go then, I believe I have taken enough of the Captain’s time.” He turns, whispers something to his nearest guard, and then looks back to Dean. “See you tonight, Dean.” He says coolly and blinks.

Dean slumps in relief as soon as he’s alone. “Jesus H. Christ.” He gasps, heart thumping loudly in his chest “This fucking family is gonna be the death of me.” He mutters and is saved from further contemplation when his brother and Benny barge in.

“Dean” Sam cries out. “El Yakman just arrived!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I tweaked a few lines from the TV show I Dream of Jeannie for the meeting between Dean and Zachariah, and even a few between Zach and Castiel--All props go to the show's writers and I meant no disrespect.
> 
> Also, the line 'dripping goat's penis' is from Stephen King's excellent book THE TALISMAN. A MUST READ, PEOPLE!!
> 
> Zachariah's title Al-Malik pretty much means Ruler or King
> 
> Shaitan - This djinn sect, of which Crowley is the leader (at least in my fic) is described as malicious and evil, as well as full of deception (Qur’an 6:112, 35:6, 43:62, 43:62). Many believe that Satan was Shaitan. ooohhh!
> 
> Marid - They are the most powerful djinn sect, but some can be dangerous. They can also offer you the highest level of energy. 
> 
> Salaam means peace. It's a salutation where you bow low with your right palm pressed against the forehead.


	14. Oops, I did it again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> El Yakman walks right up to the Captain, stopping just a breaths space away. He looks up at Dean and snorts, lips curling into a sneer. 
> 
> Dean doesn’t step back, he holds his ground, barely. His nostrils flare and he swallows thickly, but he doesn’t stir. He stares back at the Emir, not blinking, not giving an inch, and grudgingly admits that even though the smug bastard is substantially shorter, he still manages to come across as one scary motherfucker.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you're all enjoying the ride so far! Thanks for reading!

“What do you mean you lost him?” Balthazar groans, plopping down inelegantly next to Gabriel, cradling his throbbing head in his clammy hands.

Gabriel sighs dramatically and rubs his face roughly with both hands. “Ooh, I don’t know, let me think. What can I possibly mean?” He replies sarcastically, tapping his chin with the tip of an index finger. “One second I’m with him in my office, and the next, I’m here. Alone. In Cassie’s living room. Without Zach or his goons.” He grits out in frustration. “I don’t know where he’s zapped himself off to.”

“He’s hiding from us?” Balthazar asks, face pinched with concern.

“Oh come on, don’t look so worried. I’m sure he’s fine.” Gabriel says hastily.

Balthazar cocks his brow and snorts. “It’s not him I’m worried about, darling, it’s Castiel. He was so excited about our dear old uncle finally meeting his human, that he convinced himself Zachariah would be just as smitten as he is. Now, however…Dean and that temper of his.” He tsks. “And Zachariah with his priggish self righteousness…” He trails off.

Gabriel slumps further into the softness of the sofa’s cushions. “Why the fuck did you let Cas out of your sight?” He whines. “This is all so fucking fucked up.”

“And what magic was I supposed to tap into to bind him? Mine? Yours? Even together, we’re no match against Castiel anymore. Even weakened, and certainly not now that he’s super-charged.” Balthazar snaps back, the realization of this fact unsettling him more than he’d like to admit.

“Yeah, but once he finds Zach, the shit’s sure to hit the fan. I mean, you should’ve seen how pissed off he was. Nope,” Gabriel shakes his head emphatically, recalling Zachariah’s poorly concealed fury. “Not good. Not gonna be a happy ending to any of this.”

“There-there, don’t worry over it too much. I’m sure everything will work out in the end.” Balthazar says soothingly, hoping to reassure his hyperventilating brother. “When it comes to Castiel, you know uncle Zachariah will forgive anything.”

“You really think so?” Gabriel asks peeking at his brother between his spread fingers.

“Of course, without a doubt.” Balthazar replies with confidence he doesn’t feel.

Gabriel knows his brother feels the same level of hopelessness for their predicament as heavily as he does, but appreciates the sentiment nonetheless. “Well then, guess I’d better get going.” He sighs heavily and stands. “My spidey senses are tingling and right now they’re telling me that my hunk of a boyfriend needs me there to hold his hand, stat”

“El Yakman’s here? Already?” Balthazar shouts out in alarm.

“From the waves of discomfort and itchy anxiety I’m getting from Sammy, ah, hells yeah.” Gabriel confirms.

“Then what the hell are you still doing here? Go!” Balthazar shoos him. “I’ll find Zachariah. You,” He says voice deadly serious. “Keep an eye out for Cassie. I have a feeling you’ll run into him at the base clinging and clutching and spouting his eternal devotion to that hairless ape he’s so desperately in-love with.”

“Balty, be nice. I know Dean’s the king of the jackasses, but he did free Cassie. And the moron is obviously in-love and looking out for him. So, I guess for those reasons alone, we should give him a chance.”

“Yes, and I’m sure your altruistic attitude has nothing to do with your need to maintain your good standing with his all too handsome brother, hm?”

Gabriel grins and waggles his eyebrows. It amuses him how perceptive his brother is. Or maybe it’s just that he’s painfully transparent when it comes to his feelings for the younger Winchester. “Look, whatever. Just be nice for Cassie’s sake, okay?” He waits for Balthazar’s reluctant nod before vanishing.

Alone, once again, Balthazar settles more comfortably on the couch and contemplates his next move. He sits up, crosses his legs Indian style and closes his eyes. “Ohm…” He hums to clear his mind as he meditates. He’s hoping Castiel’s method of relaxation, will help rid his mind of every distraction, so that he can pour all of his concentration on locating Zachariah. “Ohm...okay, uncle where are you…ohm…”

...

“Your Excellency, this is Captain Winchester, NASA’s finest astronaut and your guide for today.” John says, introducing Dean to an impeccably groomed shorter man standing amidst a large group of equally suited men.

He then turns to Sam, standing to Dean’s right. “This here is Lieutenant Winchester, key analyst as well as our youngest astronaut, and to his left, one of our finest astronauts and systems engineer, Lieutenant Lafitte. Colonel Singer, you already know. Men,” He announces turning to face his officers. “This is his Excellency Abd-Al-Malik-El Yakman, the Emir to Kasha, and his, ah entourage.” He adds, using the term because of the impressive size of the Emir’s retinue.

Dean offers his hand, outwardly presenting a fully composed front; his earlier confrontation with Zachariah still has him reeling, his insides twisted with frustration.

He was doing fine; breathing easy knowing Castiel was safely tucked away in their house. Secure in the knowledge that he had everything under control. Confident that he and his team could handle El Yakman or any complications that might present themselves, and get the phinkilium his father wants.

But he still fidgets, Zachariah’s unexpected appearance completely derailed his theories on the djinn and left him reevaluating his feelings towards these supernatural creatures and his role amongst them. 

Jaw clenched tightly, he takes a deep breath and gets into work mode, pushing his uneasy thoughts down and away and tucking his sore feelings out of sight, until he’s forced to address them.

It takes him a moment to realize that his hand is still hovering and that the Emir hasn’t acknowledged it. He’s about to lower it when El Yakman finally closes the distance and shakes it with a firm grip.

“Captain, a pleasure, I’m sure.” He says in a clipped British accent.

Dean moves to introduce himself to the other men present, but falters at the Emir’s next words.

“General, I was told that Castiel would be here to greet me. As a matter of fact, I asked for him personally. So,” He swivels to face Dean, head-on, before continuing. “Why am I being introduced to this young man, instead? Where is Castiel?” He eyes the astronaut and smiles sweetly but it’s so forced that Dean easily reads the contempt he’s not bothering to hide.

“Sir, Cas, I mean Castiel won’t be joining us. He’s not well enough at the moment.” Sam explains. “However, we felt that we could start with your tour here at the base, and then perhaps reconvene tomorrow? If he’s better.”

Dean spins on the spot and shoots his brother a warning glare. He doesn’t like the Emir. Period. He doesn’t like the look of him. He doesn’t like the sound of him. And he definitely doesn’t appreciate the contempt that radiates off of him in waves.

_No way is this annoying prick getting anywhere near Cas._ He swears to himself. _Maybe Zachariah_ _was onto something after all._

“Not well?” The Emir asks, he narrows his eyes and holds Sam’s gaze, trying to discern if he’s being lied to or not.

“Actually, he’s outta town.” Dean lies. “He went away for a few days to, ah, recuperate.”

El Yakman walks right up to the Captain, stopping just a breaths space away. He looks up at Dean and snorts, lips curling into a sneer.

Dean doesn’t step back, he holds his ground, barely. His nostrils flare and he swallows thickly, but he doesn’t stir. He stares back at the Emir, not blinking, not giving an inch, and grudgingly admits that even though the smug bastard is substantially shorter, he still manages to come across as one scary motherfucker.

“Is that a fact, Captain?” He says voice pitched low and steely, aura pulsing with menace. “Or are you hiding him from me?” He challenges. “Because if you are, I will consider it an insult and not hesitate to void our contract!” He all but shouts.

John moves to intervene, but Bobby, brave bastard that he is, moves faster. Without hesitating, he quickly steps in to separate the two men and spare Dean from the Emir’s wrath.

“Listen, Emir, the Captain isn’t lying. If he says Castiel’s outta town, then you can believe him. And if he says that Castiel isn't up to company, then he ain’t. You can take that as gospel, ‘cause there isn’t anybody here that would know better than him.” He grits out, hackles raised in defense of his boy.

Dean could kiss him.

El Yakman lets himself be pushed back and eyeballs Bobby with renewed interest. “Hmph, I see.” He replies knowingly. “Forgive me.” He says charmingly, smiling broadly and undeniably lewdly at the Colonel, all former ire vanished. “Perhaps I was mistaken. Of course, I would love to see your base.”

He takes his leave of the General and the Colonel and with a wave of his hand, gestures for Dean to lead the way. “Captain, please.”

…

“Oh, please grand uncle, please. Dean is my Master and I love him dearly.” Castiel pleads his case to Zachariah. He followed the elder djinni’s signal all the way to Oman, where he found him creating a special bottle that will hold a powerful hybrid djinni, like Dean. “If you punish him, you are punishing me.” He implores.

“Castiel, son, I'm doing this for you. He is a liar and a traitor, and dares to deal with our hereditary enemy. He is not worthy for such as you. And I don’t care that he is _Mustafa._ ” He quickly adds halting Castiel’s next argument. “As far as I’m concerned, he’s already served his purpose. He released my favorite nephew and now you are free to rule over our beloved country. There, prophesy fulfilled.” He declares, satisfied with his logic and returns to Dean’s bottle.

“Uncle, I will not rule in your stead without Dean by my side.” Castiel says with unflappable determination.

“He means that much to you?” Zachariah asks incredulously. “You would choose him over your duty?”

Castiel nods.

Zachariah lowers his head and shakes it sadly. “Does he return your devotion?”

“With all of his heart.” Castiel says and hopes.

Zachariah huffs and throws his arms up in defeat. “Fine. I will not seek to imprison him.”

Castiel’s shoulders lose their rigidity at his uncle’s words, slumping slightly in relief.

“But, under two conditions.”

Castiel tenses instantly.

“The first is that he will marry you immediately.”

“That shouldn’t be a problem.” Castiel knows that he and Dean haven’t set a date, or even discussed their wedding plans since their engagement, but he trusts that Dean will not mind hastening their nuptials, and agree to an elopement. “What’s the second condition?”

Zachariah’s lips curl slightly and his eyes narrow. “For having the effrontery to deal with Kasha, he will avenge the honor of Oman and rid this world of El Yakman.”

…

Castiel leaves Oman and blinks himself to the base; the invisible cord that ties him physically, emotionally, and luckily in this case, telepathically, to Dean, aids in finding his mate instantly.

He appears just out of Dean’s sight and can see from his vantage point the back of his Master, as well as a large group of men that he, along with Sam and Benny, seem to be guiding.

‘ _Master.’_ He calls to Dean with his mind.

Dean turns and scans behind him, squinting when he spots Castiel’s head poking out of a closet door.

“Ah, excuse me, gentlemen. I’ll only be a moment. Sam…” He motions for his brother to continue without him and at Sam’s nod, walks briskly towards the closed door.

As soon as he enters the faintly lit room, he’s pushed up against the door and kissed roughly, hands wrapping tightly around his neck and a firm thigh pressed between his legs.

“Cas?” He says, voice hoarse and breathless. “The hell you doing here?”

Castiel doesn’t reply immediately. Instead, he gives himself a moment to simply stare and marvel at his Master’s beauty; the jade green of his eyes framed by long curved lashes, the splattering of freckles across the bridge of his nose, his always rouged lips. All of these traits help to create a flawless masterpiece. But it’s the deep love and unyielding loyalty he can feel pulsing throughout his Master for those he cares about, especially his djinni, that truly make Dean perfect (at least in Castiel’s eyes.)

The djinni reaches out and caresses his Master's cheek with a tender touch, the pad of his thumb running over the swell of his bottom lip, emitting a low sensual growl when Dean sucks it in.

“Master,” He breathes huskily, reluctantly pulling out his thumb. “I have spoken with Zachariah. He told me what happened.”

Dean misses the taste of his djinni immediately, but becomes serious at the mention of his uncle’s name. “Yeah, kinda taken by surprise there Cas. Thanks for the heads-up, man.” He says sounding a little meaner than he intended.

Castiel winces internally at Dean’s harsh attitude and braces himself for his Master’s reaction when he finds out about Zachariah’s plans. “I apologize. He wanted to surprise you. I should have stopped him.”

Dean sighs and furrows his brow, immediately regretting how his snide comment has cowed the beautiful djinni. “Sorry, Cas, for…well, for being such a dick.” And offering a small smile asks, “Forgive me?”

“Master, there’s nothing to forgive.” The djinni says smiling shyly in return.

Dean leans in and steals a kiss humming into it. “Mmm, as much as I would like to take this further, I gotta get back. And I’m seriously glad you didn’t come earlier. That Yakman dude, now _he_ is a dick.” Dean swears and with another quick peck releases his hold on Castiel.

The djinni holds on, planting his hand firmly on Dean’s hip to keep him from leaving. “Master, that’s the reason why I’ve come. Zachariah has a…” He almost says ultimatum, but knowing how badly Dean would react, decides with, “Request. Um, two as a matter of fact.”

“Yeah, sure, but can we talk about this later?” He asks anxious to get back to the tour and guide it to its conclusion. _And, hopefully to the signed documents_ _granting the US sole rights to their_ _precious minerals._

“No, Master, I must tell you, now.” Castiel insists visions of his Master trapped for eternity in a gilded bottle spurring him to continue.

“’Kay.” Dean replies already knowing he’s not going to like what he’s about to hear.

Castiel swallows, trying to moisten his suddenly dry throat. “The first is that, um, that we marry immediately.” He says eyes shining bright despite the room’s dimness.

Dean grins, wraps his arm around the djinni’s waist and pulls him forcibly against his chest. “Easy and done, baby.” He kisses his fiancé’s smiling lips and asks, “What else?”

Castiel exhales a shocked puff of air, grinning widely from Dean’s enthusiastic embrace. “His second request is, well, that you avenge the honor of Oman.” He finishes sheepishly.

Dean scowls. “And how the hell am I supposed to do that?” Then adds, in a low rumbling snarl. “What happens if I don’t?”

“Well, he mentioned something about maybe imprisoning you in your own bottle if you didn’t comply.” Castiel replies in a whisper trying to soften his uncle’s threat.

“How the hell can he do that? I mean, I’m not really a djinni. Can he really do that? Wait, never mind, ‘cause it ain’t gonna happen. You go tell your uncle I don’t react well to blackmail.” Dean replies, voice deep and gruff. “I won’t be intimidated.”

“No, of course not, Master. But I’m sure if you could just do this one little thing for him, he’ll forget all about Kasha and your role in it and-“

“Our role in it. It’s you that snake wants to meet.” Dean reminds him. “And no, you are not going.” He snaps. “Trust me, that's no Hajji we’re giving a tour to out there.”

Castiel tilts his head and frowns. “How do you know?”

“Call it a gut feeling. There’s no way that arrogant bastard is the all powerful ruler of the universe.” And as an afterthought, adds, “The underworld, maybe, but not of the djinn. Listen, I can’t deal with this right now. Let me get this over with, and we’ll talk later.” He quickly silences Castiel with one more kiss, gladly swallowing anything else he was about to say and leaves.

“Oh dear.” The djinni sighs when Dean walks out the door and blinks, rushing back to his uncle’s side.

…

“Now, if you’ll just enter this room I can explain how we’re able to simulate conditions of inner and outer space.” Sam tells the attentive crowd. “It’s particularly interesting because we use large fans to control what we like to call ‘enforced gravity’. If you look at the blades in the back…”

Dean catches up with the group just as they’re all disappearing into the Weightless Room. “Lieutenant.” He calls.

Sam nods and when the group have all walked the parameter of the room, steers them towards Dean.

“Ah, Captain, hope you won’t be baling on us again.” El Yakman sneers. “Surely there’s nothing more pressing at the moment than showing an honored guest around your great facility.”

“Ah, yeah, about that, sorry, emergency with one of the…one of the engineers needed a word.” He explains poorly. “So, if you’ll just follow me, I’ll take you over to the Environmental lab.”

They all exit the building and head to an outer wing.

A few minutes later, Dean is guiding them all into an unexpectedly small room. “I know it seems small, but with the vast array of equipment in the adjoining room, we’re able to simulate the vastness of space. Now, if you’ll go into the wind tunnel.” He gestures for the Emir to walk in first. “Towards the back you’ll-“

“What? No!” El Yakman yells and stumbles back out. “What is the meaning of this?” He turns on Dean.

“Meaning of what?” Dean asks and walks around to look inside. He stops dead in his tracks, struck dumb and full of fear when a giant Bengal tiger, readying to pounce, roars at him. “Fuck!” He yells jumping out and slamming the door behind him. Heart thudding heavily and back pressed flat against the door, Dean blinks and rids the large cat from the property.

He schools his expression and with a steady voice, says, “Ah, that was just a projector playing the image of a…a tiger to see how an astronaut would react if confronted with one.” Dean explains lamely.

The Emir walks up to Dean and scoffs. “How an astronaut reacts to a tiger? In outer space?”

Sam, god-bless him, jumps in and offers a more plausible explanation. “Well, the tiger is just a symbol of something unexpected and terrifying that an astronaut might encounter on a mission. Like an unexpected asteroid, or a faulty space suit. A malfunction in the capsule...” He rambles on. “And it tests our reflexes and reactions under extreme duress-“

“I see.” The Emir replies prissily, dismissing his explanation and turns to leave the room.

Dean thanks Sam with a nod and shrugs at his brother’s _‘what the fuck’_ look. They wait until everyone is out and follow closely behind.

…

“Grand uncle.” Castiel hisses when he spots Zachariah standing next to the massive pool in which the astronauts use to practice their space walks. When his call goes unanswered, he blinks himself directly in front of him.

Zachariah jumps back and laughs. “That’s a good look for you nephew.” He comments admiring Castiel’s choice to stand on the water’s surface in order to get his attention. “Reminds me of a very nice young man I knew once, not a djinni mind you, but with a very special kind of magic all his own. That was, oh, about two-thousand years ago, he could walk on water too. Tragic end he had. Very sad.” He remarks thoughtfully.

“I saw what you did with that tiger. That was very bad of you, uncle. If it hadn’t been for my Master’s-“

“Pffft! It was just a little joke. I was only having a bit of fun.” Zachariah says innocently.

Castiel isn’t convinced or easily fooled by his uncle’s assurances. He’s about to voice his displeasure when the large metal doors, near them, groan loudly.

They both turn at the sound and blink themselves out of sight, just as they open.

The first to enter is Benny, followed immediately by Dean, the Emir and his group, and then Sam. Benny leads them to the water’s edge and waits for everyone to find a spot along the border, before speaking.

“Mr. Yakman.” He begins.

“It’s El Yakman.” Sam corrects in a low whisper.

Benny nods and shrugs apologetically. “Sorry about that, Mr. El Yakman.”

Sam groans in embarrassment and rushes to apologize for his teammate. He looks over to Dean for help but scowls instead, when his brother fails to contain his laughter.

“It’s quite alright, Lieutenant.” The Emir tells Sam. “Please, do proceed.” He says, indifferent to Benny’s apology and Dean’s disrespectful chuckles.

Benny, gentleman that he is, misses the Emir’s condescending tone, and starts his explanation on the purpose for the pool and all of the equipment submerged in it. “Yes, this here pool and all of the equipment in it, is our attempt to duplicate the NBL that’s in Houston-“

“Please, what does NBL stand for?” One of the Emir’s aides asks.

“Neutral Buoyancy Lab, my apologies. In short, it’s where we astronauts go to practice for space walks on the ISS.” He clarifies and at Sam’s eye-roll quickly adds, “International Space Center, of course.“ He looks back to Sam and sends him a wink when he spots Gabriel standing to his right. He continues with his lecture, unfazed by the djinni’s miraculous appearance, and proceeds to impress them all with his vast knowledge of the NBL.

Taking a page out of Dean’s book on wooing and seduction, Sam dips his head towards Gabriel and whispers throatily, “Nice of you to join us.” He pulls back to see the effect his tactic has on the djinni and has to grin, because even though the lab technicians maintain the immense area at a balmy ninety-two degrees Fahrenheit, the warm puff of air he exhaled against Gabriel’s neck, causes the djinni’s skin to break out in goose flesh.

Mindful of Benny and the other men around them, Gabriel digs his nails into the soft flesh of his palms to keep from swooning, only managing it thanks to Sam’s solid presence next to him.

A short while later, Benny finishes his part of the tour and turns the group back over to Dean.

“That was great, Lieutenant.” Dean thanks his friend and steers the gathered men towards a large cage filled with monitors, dials, hoses, and other assorted machinery. He picks up an old-fashioned wooden pointer for the parts that are just out of his reach, and begins.

…

Over by the bay doors, at the other end of the hanger by the pool’s edge, Castiel and Zachariah sit invisible to the others. They chat quietly, catching up on over two thousand years of events; well it’s mostly Zachariah informing his nephew of everything he’s missed since his imprisonment.

Castiel listens, entranced by his uncle’s tales, simultaneously charmed and repulsed by his humor. He nods and hums intermittently, mindful to keep a close eye on him in case the old djinni decides, in his impatience, to sabotage his Master’s tour, again.

Guarded and watchful, he braces himself, ready to counter any magic his uncle might decide to wield against the Emir and subsequently the assignment’s success.

…

Dean walks to a nearby console and aims the pointer to the monitor mounted above it. “The images you see on the screen are life sized replicas of a small section of the ISS.” He informs them proudly, his back to the audience. “We are one of only two bases on Earth that can reenact real life scenarios as they happen in outer space.” He spins around, sweeping his arm, and points to the other end of the screen.

“The fuck?!” He shouts and jumps back, immediately retracting his arm when the scimitar, he _thought_ was his pointer, nearly decapitates the Emir.

“This is an outrage!” El Yakman shouts, immediately flanked by his guards. “You’re trying to kill me.” He rages and turns to the other three officers, brow crinkling in recognition when he spots Gabriel. “Lieutenants, arrest this man.” He orders and for the time being, ignores the niggling feeling that he somehow knows the djinni.

“What, but why?” Sam asks not understanding what got the Emir so flustered in the short amount of time he was distracted by Gabriel.

El Yakman splutters, eyes bugging out, mouth gaping. “Are you blind? The Captain just tried to assassinate me.” He says, voice dripping with unbridled scorn.

“Kill you? How?” Benny asks innocently, genuinely concerned for the Emir’s sanity.

The Emir points to the ground behind him and grates out, “With that, you ignoramus.”

“The pointer?” All three officers chime.

El Yakman spins around and gawks. “How…where…” He splutters. “Where is it?” He asks turning back to an equally stunned Dean.

“Where’s what?” Dean manages to say with a steady voice, feigning nonchalance. He’s as nonplussed as Sam looks and feels as frustrated as the Emir acts.

…

“Now this is what I call fun!” Zachariah giggles, excitedly clapping his hands at his own cleverness. “Now why did you have to do that?” He pouts when the sword he manifested in Dean’s arm, transforms magically back into a harmless pointer.

Castiel was right to be vigilant and not trust that his uncle would control his mischievous temper. When he saw the pointer turn into a deadly weapon, he was able to intervene immediately and blink it back to its previous form before too much harm could be done.

“Uncle, that was very naughty of you!” Castiel scolds. “My Master said he would handle it.” He lies, trying to buy time. “And besides, you said nothing about the Emir meeting his end here.

“Nephew, I thought that was implied. You’re not trying to stall for your Master, now, are you?”

“Of course not!” Castiel huffs out trying his best to come off as offended. “He readily agreed to your conditions. My Master is honorable and would never go back on his word.” He assures his uncle vehemently.

“I hope you’re right, Castiel, because even though you are my favorite, I will not be deceived. Not even by you.”

Castiel gulps but keeps his face blank, unreadable, and hopes the hammering of his heart doesn’t betray his duplicity.

…

“Really, Captain, are you seriously going to tell me that you didn’t just try to behead me and that earlier you didn’t throw me into a room with a ferocious tiger?” The Emir asks, voice low and dangerous, daring Dean to contradict him.

Dean looks over to his men, silent plea for help in his shock-widened eyes. From the confused stares they give in return, they’re as much at a loss as he is. “Ah…look, Emir, sir, ...I’m not exactly sure what you think just happened, but…um, before, Sam explained about the tiger simulation and-“ Dean’s tripping over his words and is relieved when he’s cut off, even if it is by Gabriel.

“Your Excellency.” Gabriel strides closer to the fuming man, giving him his most charming smile, hoping it’s enough to disarm the heightened tension between the Emir and Dean. “It’s been a long day. And you’ve been bombarded non-stop with an overwhelming amount of visual and oral stimulation.” He winks. “And I’m sure that you haven’t had much of a chance to rest after your long journey. So, it’s only natural that you would see things that really aren’t there.”

_He doesn’t recognize me._ El Yakman realizes with relief when Gabriel, standing only a few feet from him, doesn’t so much as stutter in his moronic explanation. He pinches the bridge of his nose, and turns to whisper something to one of his men. When he turns back to Gabriel, he sighs tiredly, “I need a drink, Lieutenant.”

“Here let me.” Dean volunteers. He walks over to a mini fridge and pulls out a bottle of water, grabs a glass from an overhead cabinet and pours the liquid for El Yakman. He does this all eagerly knowing that for their assignment to be a success he needs to get back into the Emir’s good graces.

_You owe me one dad._

El Yakman takes a sip and spits it out immediately. “What is the meaning of this? Now you’re trying to poison me?” He screeches between deep wracking coughs, throat on fire.

Dean boggles and automatically steps closer to the hysterical man, reaching out with a tentative hand to pound him on the back.

“Touch me and we’re at war.” He hisses and heaves, letting himself be led away by his men.

“What’s going on? Dean?” John yells over the commotion, joining them just in time to see his son epically fail on his first diplomatic assignment.

El Yakman wrenches free from his guard’s grip and turns on the General. “I came here in good faith and with good intentions, my only request, to see Castiel. But instead, you turn me over to this murderous maniac? How dare you?”

“Your Excellency, please-“

“No! This man,” El Yakman points to Dean. “Tried to throw me into a den of tigers, then he tried to skewer me. And when those attempts on my life failed, he tried to poison me.”

“A den of tigers? On base? There must be a mistake. I’m certain there’s an explanation-“

“No! No more. I’m going to ensure that Kasha sever diplomatic relations with this god forsaken country. Our phinkilium will go to…to any other country that wants it. And I will hand it over, willingly.” He promises. “Tell Castiel that I will be in touch.” And with his entourage trailing closely behind, storms out.

John turns to his men and regards them closely, trying to get a handle on the situation. He looks at each one in turn and finally settles his focus on Dean.

“Sir, I’m not sure what happened. But if you’ll just let me-“ Dean starts.

“What, explain?” John snarls eyes gouging into Dean. “You’ll explain nothing. You knew perfectly well what this assignment meant for NASA, for the United States. For me. The phinkilium was vital for the future of the space program.”

“Permission to speak, sir.” Dean asks.

“Captain, you’ll be lucky if I give you permission to stay in the air force.” He bites out and turns to leave. “I want a thorough debriefing of the events from today’s meeting with the Emir, by o-eight-hundred.” He barks and walks out.

…

Dean’s incensed, but his anger doesn’t fall into murderous rage until he hears the distinct sound of laughter coming from the other end of the room. Even from the vast distance, he can clearly make out Zachariah’s giggles.

Without thinking, he blinks.

“What, how?” Zachariah spews in shock. “Release me immediately!”

Sam, Gabriel and Benny stare in disbelief as Dean, now standing across the room, almost two-hundred feet away, argues animatedly with a bottle.

“Neat trick, huh? I got this idea from you, actually." he snorts.

"So, you thought you could put me in a bottle and shut me up?” Dean yells into the offending bottle, now Zachariah’s prison. “Now it’s your turn to listen, uncle Zachariah.” He sneers. “I want you to stay out of my life or you’re going to spend the rest of your pathetic existence in this bottle. And no more of your damned conditions. I’m Castiel’s Master, and I get to make the decisions for us. You understand?”

He pauses to gather his tumultuous thoughts, sifting hastily through them without a filter. “As a matter of fact, I’ve had it up to here with him _and_ his friggin family. The way you people think you can waltz into my life and tear apart everything I’ve worked so hard for ...” He stops, rage filled gaze locked on the bottle and taking a deep gulp of air, continues. “All the bullshit I’ve had to muddle through to get where I am today...all shot to shit because of you coming here interfering and fucking everything up.” he snarls, spitting the words out like venom.

In an instant, thanks to Gabriel, all three officers find themselves standing next to Dean, bearing witness as he unravels and tears down his whole world before them.

“Dean, stop. Don’t.” Sam hisses stepping closer, hands in front of him, begging his brother to calm down and shut the fuck up.

“Everything! You’ve destroyed everything I’ve worked so hard for.” He goes on, ignoring his brother’s warning, so caught up in the heat of the moment, he’s unable to stop himself. “Right now...” he heaves. “I wouldn’t marry Castiel if he were the last djinni on earth.”

He finally turns to look at his men, smug tense smile plastered on his face, corked bottle clenched tightly in his fist. He nearly drops it, though, when it jerks violently and shoots its cork straight into the air. He struggles with it, clamping his open palm on the opening to prevent the older djinni from escaping, heart dropping when the smoke of pale blue vapor erupts and seeps between his fingers.

When the fog clears, glaring at him from less than a foot away is his djinni, Castiel: blue eyes glowing from within, mouth an unforgiving straight line, jaw clenching, posture erect, battle ready. He holds Dean’s gaze, wordlessly communicating his grief.

“Good bye, Master. Forever.” He says voice a low rumble; the steely calm of his tone belying the emotions wracking throughout his body. And in a blink, he’s gone.

Dean hunches over and stares unbelievingly at his empty hands. He staggers, almost collapsing and clutches at his aching stomach. He feels nauseous. The sound of loud applause reminds him that he’s not alone and when he turns, the sight of his friends looking pityingly at him, make him, unbelievably, feel worse.

“Well, seems like you really did it this time, Dean-o.”Gabriel comments dryly, ceasing his clapping when Sam jabs him with an elbow.

“Gabe, come on man, have a heart.” Sam scolds. “Listen Dean, I’m sure he just went home to let off some steam.”

Dean’s smile is strained, he feels hollow and tired. “Yeah, sure he is.” He answers not really believing it.

“Um, hate to be the bearer of bad tidings, but, no, Castiel is not at your home. He’s not even in the country.” Balthazar informs them, having just popped in and settling by the pool.

“Then where the hell is he?” Dean snaps reining in the power he feels pulsating in time with the beat of his heavy heart. He’s antsy, jumpy, needing to go _now_ to find his fiancé before it’s too late. _God, please don’t let it be too late._

“He, well, he’s left you, Dean. Oh, and don’t bother trying to find him. He’s hidden himself from you.” He turns to leave but adds, “I’m truly sorry for you. You have completely fucked up and lost the best thing that will ever happen to you. It must be unbearable.” He tsks and disappears.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There were a few more nods to 'I Dream of Jeannie' in this chapter. Again, no disrespect intended.
> 
> Abd-Al-Malik-El Yakman translates to 'servant of the King' El Yakman
> 
> Mustafa, which is what Zach calls Dean, translates to 'The Chosen One'


	15. Not Broken, Just Bent

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zachariah simply continues tutting in lieu of a response to Castiel’s impertinence. When he turns to look at his nephew, it’s with a pained expression. “Why are you being so stubborn, son? That Master of yours doesn’t even want you, don’t you remember? I, on the other hand, have found someone that will worship and obey you, unconditionally, for as long as you want her.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, yes, I know, the title's taken from Pink's super sappy song. But I felt it really fit here. Yay, PInk!

“Shouldn’t have lost my temper, Sam.” Dean says on a shaky breath, exhaling sharply into his trembling hands. Slouched low on his brother’s couch he runs unsteady fingers roughly through his hair and yanks, pulling hard on the short strands, welcoming the pain.

_How could this happen?_ He keeps asking himself, still in a mild state of denial since Castiel’s departure.

Distraught and inconsolable he had raced home hoping to find the djinni holed up in his bottle, but instead found both Castiel and the bottle gone.

“Yeah, quite the epic melt-down, man.” Sam agrees.

He had rushed to his brother’s side after Balthazar zapped away, insisting that Dean stay with him and Gabriel until they came up with a way to get Castiel back. He finally managed to convince Dean, only after a thorough search of the house turned up nothing.

“I didn’t mean it. None of it. God,” his voice warbles. “Especially not that pile of horse-shit about not marrying him.” Dean groans, looking to his brother, tears welling up in his eyes. “Fuck, Sam, I can’t lose him.” He confesses with an uneasy shudder.

Sam takes a seat next to him and lays his large hand gently on Dean’s shoulder. “Dean, we’ll get him back, I promise.” He looks over to Gabriel, the djinni’s propped against a far wall, arms folded over his chest, frowning. “Right Gabe?” Sam asks, gesturing with his eyes for the djinni to agree.

“I don’t know, Sam.” He replies honestly. “Dean said some pretty harsh things to my little brother back at the base. I can’t honestly say I blame him for leaving.”

“He’s right.” Dean answers cowering lower, the weight of his colossal mistake making him retch and swallow down the bile he can taste in the back of his throat. “Jesus Sam, the second the words were out of my stupid mouth, I knew I fucked up.”

Sam’s eyes shoot up and his brow furrows in concern. He knows Dean’s repentant and won’t be at peace until he has the djinni back by his side. And he wants that for him. He’s never seen his brother happier or more at ease with himself and the world, as he is when he’s with Castiel. He therefore vows to get those two stubborn sons-a-bitches back together, if it’s the last thing he does.

“Dean, this isn’t over. You and Cas, aren’t over. We’ll get him back.” He says again and turns to his own djinni to start formulating a plan.

“Sorry, but you forgot one tiny little detail there, Master, Cassie doesn’t want to be found.” Gabriel reminds him. “No amount of magic will help me locate him if he doesn’t want us to know where he is. Even if the guy is standing right in front of me, I wouldn’t see him, he’s that powerful.”

Sam stares back at Gabriel, the look of triumph on his smiling face completely out of place with the djinni’s dismal news. “I didn’t ask you to locate Cas, Gabe. I want you to find Zachariah.”

“Oh… well, yeah. Now that could work.” Gabriel confirms, small smile tugging on his lips, thoroughly impressed with his very clever Master’s shrewd way of thinking.

…

“Really, Cassie, all that pacing’s making me anxious.” Balthazar complains. “Come here and have some of this lovely ambrosia, simply delicious.” He hums.

Castiel shoots his brother a stormy glare. “I’m not in the mood for your flippancy, brother.” He warns.

“Pity. I was really hoping that once you were rid of dumb-dumb, you’d also lose that stick that’s so desperately wedged up your pert little arse, brother dear.” He retaliates.

In a blur of movement, Castiel shoots his arm out, palm face up, fingers spread open; the action flings Balthazar clear across the room.

“Bravo, well done nephew.” Zachariah applauds from his seat on their balcony. He tilts his head back and inhales deeply, savoring the sun’s warmth on his face and the sweet smell of the overripe fruit that permeates the air. “Very well indeed.” He hums to himself, enjoying the simple pleasures from one of his palace’s many gardens.

Castiel knows, instinctively, that turning his ire on the old djinni would be foolhardy at best and suicidal at worst. Therefore, with a great deal of effort, he bridles his overwhelming irritation, and replies to his uncle’s comment with a steady voice. “You’re pleased that I lashed out at my own brother?” He asks calmly, albeit with a steely edge to his tone.

“You know, only the most powerful of the djinn can bend the world to their will without blinking.” Zachariah comments, completely ignoring his nephew’s question and dark mood, in favor of his original point.

“Like Dean.” Castiel responds automatically, swallowing down the hurt that uttering his ex-Master’s name causes.

Zachariah snorts. “Hmph, yes, I suppose so. Like Dean.” He grudgingly concedes.

They’re both interrupted from further contemplation on the matter when Balthazar curses from across the room.

“Ow!” The blonde djinni yells from where he lays bruised and, for the moment, forgotten. “That hurt, you arse!” He swears, rubbing a sore spot on his head.

Castiel drops his eyes, feeling ashamed for his lack of self-control and violent reaction to his brother’s goading, even if he did deserve it. “My apologies, Balthazar. I…it’s not you that I feel frustration towards.”

Balthazar, not too impressed with his brother’s ‘apology’, blinks himself back to Castiel’s side and begins his rant. “Not me you’re upset with, really? Shocking!” He rolls his eyes and sighs dramatically. “Well, Cassie, next time you feel a smiting coming on, please be sure to do it in front of a mirror so that you don’t miss your intended target.” He pauses, waiting to see if Castiel can come up with a better excuse for his, in Balthazar’s opinion, abhorrent behavior.

“Look, I get that it’s still a fresh wound I was picking at, and next time I’ll make sure to give you a wide berth when you’re in danger of throwing a hissy-fit, but do us all a favor, brother, and sort out your priorities!”

“Now, now, Balthazar, don’ t be too harsh on your brother. At least not for next few days.” Zachariah says from the room’s open French doors.

Both of his nephews regard him warily, curious as to why their uncle would choose those particular words. “And what’s so special about the next few days?” Balthazar decides to ask.

Zachariah just beams at them, rocking on his heels and thoroughly pleased with whatever he’s about to reveal. “What’s so special, Balthazar? Well, in a few days time, our young Castiel will meet and wed his future wife.”

There’s complete silence for a long moment while both stunned djinni let the news sink in, silently pondering its implications.

“Uncle, excuse my insolence, but I’m afraid the sun has addled your brain.” Castiel dares to say.

Zachariah chuckles at the insult. “Nephew, my mind has never been sharper and I, more certain. By week’s end, you will be wed with the one I saw fit to be your wife.”

“No. I did not agree to this.”

The old djinni strides leisurely towards Castiel and plops down on an intricately patterned damask settee. “Ah-ah-ah, Castiel, but you did. You agreed to rule my kingdom with your betrothed.”

“I agreed to rule with Dean.” Castiel says defiantly, eyes narrowed and fists clenched.

Zachariah simply continues tutting in lieu of a response to Castiel’s impertinence. When he turns to look at his nephew, it’s with a pained expression. “Why are you being so stubborn, son? That Master of yours doesn’t even want you, don’t you remember? I, on the other hand, have found someone that will worship and obey you, unconditionally, for as long as you want her.”

His uncle’s words cut deeply. Of course he remembers that Dean doesn’t want him, he heard it with his own ears. The knowledge that his Master wants to be rid of him has been slowly tearing at his sanity since he blinked them out of the base. “Yes, of course, how stupid of me.” He replies. “I will agree to meet this woman, but I don’t agree to simply marry her because it‘s what you wish, uncle.”

“Now you listen here, Castiel, I have been patient long enough and as guardian of your bottle, and therefore your future, I insist that-“

Feeling how the air suddenly begins to crackle around them, Balthazar wisely decides to intervene by loudly clearing his throat and silencing the arguing pair. “Moment, please.” He speaks up when both men look over at him. “Uncle, perhaps Cassie needs a good night’s rest before he can fully tackle such a monumental request.” He proposes hoping that his blithe comment will defuse or at least stall the tension building between them.

“Brother,” He addresses Castiel. “Why don’t you go to your room and get some much needed rest. You’ve had a very trying day, wouldn’t you agree? Perhaps a bit of meditation?” Balthazar advises, hoping that his brother will catch onto the true meaning behind his suggestion.

Castiel nods in agreement. “Yes, Balthazar, I am…bone weary.” He was going to say _heart sick_ , but catches himself and pushes the thought away even though the ache lingers. “Uncle, we’ll talk in the morning. Again, thank you for your hospitality. Good night.” He says stiffly and is gone before either man can say anything further.

…

“Jesus, Sammy, quit hovering, I’m not gonna break.” Dean complains while his brother continues to rearrange his pillows.

He’s wiped out, drained, running on empty after hours of brainstorming with his brother and Gabriel on what to add or omit to the General’s report, but more importantly, on the best way to approach Castiel to win him back.

Unable to give more, and mollified with their tentative plan, he reluctantly agrees to rest for the few hours they have left before they have to head back to the base. He rubs his eyes tiredly. “Quit mother-henning already.” He snaps half-heartedly, batting at Sam’s hands.

Sam scowls, but persists with his fussing. “Come on, let me take care of you for once, okay?” He bitches. At his brother’s eye roll, he elaborates. “Look, I’m just trying to…to make sure you…”

“What the fuck, Sam?” Dean asks getting more and more agitated from his brother’s nervous fidgeting.

Sam quiets and takes a deep breath before continuing. “Dean,” He starts cautiously, searching for the right words, afraid his brother will bolt upon hearing what he’s about to say. “I remember how you got when Lisa broke up with you...the first time.” When his brother’s eyes widen at the memory, he clarifies. “I know how bad it got. I mean, I know I wasn’t here for most of your, well, breakdown. But I want you to know that you’re not alone this time, okay.” He assures. “Especially since Cas is…more, I mean…everything to you. I’m here for you, bro.”

Dean cringes at Sam’s over emoting. But at the same time can’t help but deeply appreciate his brother’s concern. “Christ, Sammy, you done lactating yet?” He snarks scrunching his face in mock disgust, eager to distance himself from any conversation having to do with Lisa and their doomed relationship.

Sam knows Dean’s immature behavior, the way he uses deflection as a shield, is his way of avoiding any discussion having to do with his fragile emotions. So instead of pushing, he just throws his hands up at a loss, and turns to leave. “Fine, whatever.” He says from the doorway.

“Yo, bitch…thanks.” Dean calls after him.

It’s a lame apology but to Sam’s ears, it’s earnest and heartfelt.

“No problem, jerk.”

…

After his brother leaves, Dean tries to sleep. He pleads with his wrung out body to still and relax, and for his riotous thoughts to leave him in peace, hoping that his leaden limbs and his muddled brain are a result from the day’s tumultuous events and not because his powers are waning, due to Castiel’s distance.

The thought terrifies him. And he’d be lying if he said he didn’t love the rush of being so powerful. But his real fear stems from the fact that without his powers, he will be at Zachariah’s mercy, and have to rely solely on Castiel's willingness to come back to him, of his own free will. Not that he was planning on kidnapping the djinni, _‘cause that’s just wrong, and creepy'_ . And Dean Winchester may be a lot of things, nasty negative things, but he’s never been a creeper. Well, not intentionally, anyway.

A short while later, deciding that sleep is a futile endeavor, he sits up, stretches and yawns loudly. He’s honestly too tired to rest and no matter how hard he tries to shut his mind down, images of his djinni, exquisitely beautiful Castiel, persist on plaguing him.

“Oh, Cas. I’m so fucking sorry.” He says sadly, choking back a sob. “Argh!” He grunts in frustration and falls back against the mattress.

He reaches out with his mind hoping to connect with his djinni if not by sight, then at least by thought. He already tried earlier, almost immediately after Castiel left, but was greatly dismayed when his mind only met with silence, a void that shook Dean in its absolute vacuity.

_Fuck, I miss having you in my head._ He realizes and smirks at the irony. “Cas, baby…” He sighs into his pillow, winding his arms tightly around it and burying his face into its softness.

“Mmm, fuck I miss you.” He moans, and knowing that sleep is definitely out of his reach, palms his growing erection gladly choosing instead to indulge in a little fantasizing.

…

Sleep eludes Castiel. He lays on his bed, restless, tossing and turning, nerves on edge, uneasy and jumpy. Zachariah’s news is a betrayal that has him seriously reconsidering his uncle’s request that he be his Khalifa, Oman’s next ruler, as well as Faisal, to the astral plane of Kaf.

Earlier, he considered Balthazar’s subtle suggestion that he reach out to Dean. But he resisted, too proud and too hurt to ask for his aid against Zachariah’s skewed intentions.

But now, hours later, still wide-awake and with an overwhelming sadness weighing him down, he succumbs to his mind and body’s automatic need for the comfort he so desperately craves and opens his mind back up to thoughts of Dean.

He needs his Master, _Hmph, not my Master anymore._ He remembers ruefully. That daunting realization, however, doesn’t negate the fact that he still finds himself needing the support and solace he knows being in Dean’s presence would instantly grant him.

“Dean.” He utters sadly. “I need you.” He whispers into the empty room. Castiel misses him with a desperation he didn’t think possible. The physical ache to be near him and with him again, is so fierce, it’s palpable.

His breath stutters at the thought of being in Dean’s arms again, to feel his Master’s possessive grip and greedy fingers as they press, bruisingly, into his needy flesh.

“Dean…” He sighs longingly, running his hands over his overheated skin, one winding low to cup his hardening dick.

…

Dean gasps, elated upon hearing Castiel’s voice again, even if it’s barely audible and far away. “Baby, I swear I can hear you.” He mumbles awestruck.

“Master,” Castiel responds, the word, slipping out of its own accord, is both sweet on his lips and music to his ears.

Finally, unable to resist the temptation to be with his Master, at least one last time, he reaches out with his mind and creates a phantom hand to caress Dean’s cheek.

Dean sucks in a ragged breath from the sensation. “Cas, that really you?” He pleads, and desperate to touch the djinni, reaches back with all of his considerable strength.

“Master!” Castiel yelps from the unexpected force of being yanked forward and engulfed in a crushing embrace, his skin prickling as the very _air_ around him folds to create invisible powerful limbs. “Dean…how, I feel you…how is this possible?”He stutters breathlessly.

He arches back, legs falling open when he feels the slide of a thigh pressing between them, gasping when the phantom limb twines itself around his leg. He parts his lips and hums deeply when the heavy weight of Dean’s tongue, hot and slippery, fills his mouth.

“It’s possible because you’re mine. Because you belong to me!” Dean hisses, his heated breath ghosting over the djinni’s outstretched neck causing Castiel’s skin to break out in gooseflesh and his cock to fully harden.

“Mine.” Dean whispers again, but this time his tone is reverent, worshiping. He takes the djinni’s length in his phantom hand and tugs gently, savoring the velvet smooth heat of it, groaning brazenly at the delicious sounds Castiel makes when he brushes a feather light swipe over the sensitive head.

Castiel wraps his whole essence around Dean’s energy, turning the equivalent of ‘ _djinni phone_ _sex’_ into an experience so tangible, that Dean’s hard pressed to tell the difference between it, and actually having Castiel, physically, next to him.

Dean is overjoyed to have Castiel with him again (well, metaphorically speaking at least) and has to fight the urge to simply rut and take and devour until they’re both spent, and instead wills his body and mind to slow the fuck down and savor. The pain this causes is exquisite, but he wants to hold onto it and relish it for as long as the djinni allows.

“Cas,” He gasps into the djinni’s equally breathless mouth. “Miss you…so much, baby…” He sighs between urgent kisses, tapping into willpower he didn’t know he had, to calm their pace to a slower more languid one.

They spend a glorious amount of time exploring each other's mouths, lapping, nipping, tongues sucking, lips mashing, and even though they’re currently made up of ether and desire, they find their bodies demanding that they pull away, if only briefly, for short intakes of air, lest their incorporeal versions black out from their over enthusiastic exertions.

“Dean,” Castiel sighs sweetly against his Master’s throat, sucking and biting at the tender flesh. “I want you…” He adds gruffly, the timbre of his voice tilting towards impatience.

Dean chuckles, absolutely loving the petulant tone his lover takes because of his slow and leisurely pace. “Impatient much, baby?” He teases.

Castiel pulls away and cups Dean’s face, letting the warmth from his hands meld with the feverish heat of the astronaut’s cheeks. Gaze intent, he abandons all hope to deny his body and heart their greatest desire, and leaps with arms wide-open, towards his destiny. “Yes.” He declares without reservation.

_Yes!_

It’s quite possibly the most beautiful word Dean’s ever heard. The complete seriousness and impact from that one single word resonates and thrums through his core, spurring him to double his efforts and make quick work on pleasuring Castiel. _No more holding back_ , Dean thinks. And with a desperation to touch and feel and mark, takes Castiel’s cock in his slicked palm, and begins to stroke him with renewed urgency.

The djinni bucks, chest bowing and mouth parting. “Fuck…Master, yes!” he curses. Castiel fucks into Dean’s fist with gusto, a delicious bump and grind of hip meeting hip, while the energy around them builds in intensity, the air, thick with ozone.

“D-Dean…” He stammers voice thick and guttural. The sound, fucked out and debauched, shoots straight to Dean’s dick.

With some deft maneuvering, Dean manages to grasp both cocks in his fist, the obscene slide of skin on skin when they rub against each other, quickly builds to a crescendo. “Gah…baby…” Dean huffs out, biting his bottom lip to stave off his orgasm. “Cas…cum for me!”

At his command, the djinni’s body stiffens. “Dean-“ He keens, chest pressed flush against Dean’s, face buried in the crook of his Master’s neck and cums.

Dean follows immediately after his beloved. The even rhythm of hips faltering and the smooth movements from his hand stuttering, and spills; the ghostly white liquid shooting out, spattering across the djinni’s torso. “Fuck…” he moans when he slides his hand over the tacky mess, taking wicked delight in rubbing it thoroughly into Castiel’s sweat slicked incorporeal body. “Mine.” He sighs again, and smiles at its certainty.

“Yes, Dean.” Castiel agrees happily, overjoyed that Dean has claimed and marked him on this plane of existence just as he has in the mortal realm; _‘Still the immortal plane to explore’,_ he muses, greedily indulging in that particular fantasy, in spite of their current status. “Dean…” he whispers, exhaling the single syllable on a heated sigh, tilting his head to lick at his ex-Master’s spit shiny lips, moaning with pleasure at the sweetness of his kisses.

“Baby, mmph…“ Dean pulls away breaking their kiss, grinning in relief as the vise-like grip that has been plaguing his heart, finally loosens. With limbs pliant and liquid from his mind-blowing orgasm, Dean puts all restraint aside and makes a bold request. “This is ridiculous, you know. Whaddya say you blink your sweet ass back here. Now. “At Castiel’s wary look, he adds, although belatedly, “Please.” His eyes, pleading and hopeful.

When the djinni drops his eyes, throat bobbing, swallowing whatever he was about to say, Dean asks, “Cas, what’s wrong?” _Stupid question_ he realizes, but it’s the best his post-sex brain can manage.

Castiel just looks at him with wide wounded eyes. “You said you wouldn’t marry me even if I were the last djinni on Earth.” He all but sobs and knowing it’s pointless, neglects to mention the fact that since Dean is no longer his Master, his right to order Castiel to return, is forfeit.

“Cas, look, I was wrong, okay. I get that. But you gotta believe me, I didn’t mean any of it. Okay, I did the parts about Zachariah. But that dick seriously pissed me off. I would never have said those things-“ Dean stumbles clumsily through his apology. But he can’t help it, the knee-jerk reaction to berate and bash the one person he blames for his current misery, fuels his anger and frustration.

“Stop.” Castiel says calmly. He’s heard enough and unfortunately, for Dean, it’s too much and not enough. Well sated, blessedly clear headed, and with renewed resolve, he begins to untangle his phantom limbs from his ex-Master’s. “I was wrong to call on you. Please forgive me.” He says tone cold, face blank.

“What? No!” Dean yells trying to will Castiel’s form back into his hold. His eyes widen comically when he realizes what Castiel intends to do next and makes one last desperate attempt to intertwine his own essence with that of the djinni’s and prevent him from leaving. It’s useless, however, and Castiel easily shrugs off the power Dean tries to exert over him.

“Good bye, Dean.” He states with finality and severs their connection.

Crestfallen, devastated and heart-broken, Dean slams his face into the pillow on which Castiel’s incorporeal head had lain, and screams.

…

“Phew!” Sam exclaims loudly, wrinkling his nose while fanning the air in front of his face with his hand. “How the hell did you manage to make this place smell like sex?” He asks in disbelief.

“Mphk-offph!” Dean grumbles a muffled reply.

“Huh?”

Dean twists aggressively in his sheets until he’s facing his brother. “I said, fuck off.” He repeats through clenched teeth.

“The hell, Dean?” Sam asks in an irritated huff, wondering what could have possibly disturbed the relative peace Dean had managed to get the previous night that has him waking grumpy and agitated.

Deciding to be the bigger person here, he takes a deep calming breath, and hopes that his news will ‘brighten’ his brother’s sour disposition. “Look, it’s time you get up. We gotta leave soon.” Sam tells him and smirks when all Dean does is burrow deeper into his covers. “Oh yeah, and, ah, Gabe’s got some news that I think will cheer you up.”

_Castiel_ is all Dean gleams from that. “Gabe found Zachariah? Why didn’t you say so?”

Dean shoots up so quickly Sam has to bite his tongue in order to suppress his chuckle. _God you_ a _re so whipped._ “Yeah, well, I would have if you weren’t being such a tool just now.” _Being the_ _bigger man is overrated;_ he muses and laughs out loud anyway.

Dean throws him a warning glare and storms off to the bathroom. “Give me five.” He barks from behind the door.

“’Kay, just make sure you get that stick out. ‘Cause from the sound of it, I’d say it’s wedged pretty deep.” Sam teases and runs out of the room before Dean can retaliate.

…

“Spill.” Dean demands of Gabriel, startling the djinni with a deep menacing snarl.

“And good morning to you too, sunshine!” The djinni smiles brightly, turning back to his syrup-laden pancakes and completely ignoring Dean’s glower.

Eyes closed, Sam pinches the bridge of his nose and says wearily, “Gabe, just tell him what you know.”

“I was gonna.” He protests. “Geesh a guy can’t even finish his breakfast-“

Dean, patience at an end, rounds on him. “Gabe, trust me, now is not the time to push me.”

The djinni holds his hands up in surrender. “Okay, okay! I wasn’t able to locate dear ole uncle Zach, but no matter, because we got someone better, an informant. A bona-fide double agent.” He tells them excitedly and looking over Dean’s shoulder says, “Why don’t you take it from here, brother.”

Dean spins on the spot and instantly transports himself to where Balthazar stands, pushing him back and pinning him against the wall. “Where is he?” He growls.

Conscious of the fact that he’s unable to blink himself to a safe distance because of Dean’s superior powers, Balthazar folds his arms over his chest in an effort to gain some distance from the fuming astronaut. Chin up and locking eyes, he snorts. “You know, I still can’t fathom why my brother longs for you.” He comments haughtily. “You seem to have only two settings: anger fueled Neanderthal or selfish-sex-starved-over-lord.”

Dean lowers his eyes, embarrassed. As much as he would like to repeat his question with his fists, he steps away instead, knowing that in order to win Castiel back he’s going to need the djinni’s bothers on his side. “Please, Balthazar. Where’s Cas?”

“See, now that wasn’t so hard.” Balthazar replies, looking Dean over with disdain.

“Balthazar, I can’t promise to have the same level of restraint that Dean is showing you, so, speak or-”

“Or what?” He asks Sam with a mocking laugh.

“Or, I’ll make you, brother.” Gabriel threatens. “Tell us where Cas is so we can go and bring him back home.”

Balthazar looks intently at them before deigning to respond. “And what makes you think he wants to come back? To him, no less?” He asks jabbing a thumb towards Dean.

“Listen, even though Cas might…might not want to be with me, at the moment,” Dean adds for his own sanity. “He needs to know the truth. I didn’t mean any of it. He can’t think-“

"Fine, fine, I’ve heard enough!” Balthazar gives in and pauses a moment to gather his thoughts. “Well as it just so happens, I’ve actually come on Castiel's behalf. Well, he doesn't actually know I'm here, but that's probably for the best. He’s in a bit of a tight spot and seeing that you, Dean, are currently the possessor of superior powers, I had no choice but to seek you out for, well, to aid in his rescue.”

He uses their stunned silence as his cue to continue. “And, regardless of your current status, or lack thereof,” He says pointedly to Dean. “It might interest you to know that your ex-fiancé has already been promised to another. And, if Zachariah has his way, which he does, Castiel will wed his new mate by week’s end.”

The bottom drops out from under Dean. His knees buckle and he doubles over. The bluntness of the statement hits him like a physical blow. “Cas, no.”

…

_Cas, no._ Dean’s words, soft and full of sorrow, echo in the djinni’s head.

“Are you listening to me?” Zachariah asks.

Castiel looks over to his uncle, pushing thoughts of Dean down and away. After their lust ( _love_ ) filled night, he’s come to the very serious conclusion that barring that one misstep, he must sever their link, once and for all. So he promises himself that he will yield to his uncle’s will, if only so that he can finally let go of his foolish dream of ever being Dean’s djinni again.

“Forgive, me, uncle. You were saying?”

Zachariah draws his brows together in concern, or is that wariness that Castiel spies. “I do all of this for your benefit, Castiel. It would bode well for you to be a bit more attentive to the details of your future wife, her family and your responsibilities.”

“Of course.” Castiel agrees swallowing down the grief that’s bubbling in the pit of his soul and threatening to spill at the least provocation. “Please, proceed, you have my undivided attention.”

Zachariah still looks unconvinced. “I certainly hope so nephew, for you and your ex-Master’s sake.” He warns with a menacing note.

The ever-persistent ache in his heart over Dean flares dangerously close to rage from his uncle’s threat. “Why bring Dean into this? He no longer has any pertinence in our matters.” He says reasonably digging blunt nails into his palms to quell his rising anger.

Zachariah scoffs at the innocent enough comment. “No, he doesn’t.” He confirms. “I only want to make sure that _you_ don’t forget and that thoughts of him no longer hinder your progress.” He shrugs. “Or, your obedience.”

“I assure you, Dean is no longer a factor in any of…” He swallows thickly. “Your decisions about my future.” _Bleak as it most definitely will be._ He can’t help but grimace at the taste of poison coating his tongue as the words leave his mouth, and the reality of what he just said, hits him.

Finally satisfied with the young djinni’s answers, Zachariah’s disposition swiftly changes back to that of a doting uncle. He smiles widely and continues with their previous topic, discussing at length what will be required from his nephew to insure the smooth transition of power from his reign to Castiel’s, once he’s married.

“Now, Castiel, when your betrothed arrives-“

“Excuse the interruption, but when will I be meeting her and her family.” Castiel asks and adds as an afterthought, “By the way, what is her name?”

“Now, I want you to know that there was no alternative to this union. It was inevitable since the beginning.” Zachariah warns after a brief pause, answering without answering. “I'm sorry, but you have to understand it’s necessary for the future greatness and well being of our people.”

“Uncle, why are you apologizing?” Castiel asks eyes squinting, curious as to his uncle’s contrite tone. With the weight of impending doom, he asks again. “Who. Is. She?”

Lifting his chin in defiance, Zachariah squares his shoulders and answers. Shahnaz Al-Sayyida Meghan, Crowley’s heir.”

Castiel’s eyes widen in shocked disbelief. He lets himself collapse onto a long bench that appears, just as he falls. He grips the seats edges. “How? Why?” he gasps, breathless, all the air punched out of his lungs, and meeting Zachariah’s eyes, says with finality, “No.”

Zachariah throws his hands up. “See, I knew you’d take it badly.” At Castiel’s glare, he goes on. “I want you to know that I have taken every precaution for your ensured well-being. Why that whole imprisoning you in your bottle for two thousand years fiasco is forgotten and forgiven.” He persists.

Dumbstruck, Castiel chuckles at the absurdity of what Zachariah has just said. “You mean, after being trapped for over two millennia, just so that I wouldn’t have to spend one day with that she-devil, I must now spend an eternity with her, for the supposed peace of our land?” He barks out in laughter.

Zachariah looks at him with a mixture of scorn and pity. ”Right on the head, Castiel.” And with a shrug of his shoulders, continues. “I assure you that I find dealing with Crowley as distasteful and unclean as you do. But-”

“Oh, I seriously doubt it, uncle.” Castiel wheezes, short of breath, tears running down his ruddy cheeks.

“Well, regardless of your protestations, the deal has been made and it is non-negotiable. You will marry that demon spawn and combine our powers with their formidable numbers. Remember, I hold your bottle now nephew, and as your guardian, you will do what I ask.” He orders.

Castiel, gaze unwavering, spits out, “Yes, Master.”

“Oh for the love of…must you be so melodramatic? Honestly, you’ve become more of a drama queen than those two brothers of yours.”

“Leave Balthazar and Gabriel out of this.” Castiel growls with barely hidden contempt.

“Who’s talking about those two light weights? I meant Michael and Lucifer. Now that was power that you could sink your teeth into. Pity I had to trick Hajji into banishing them.”

“At _your_ bidding?” Castiel asks, stunned.

“Yeah, well, my bad, okay. How was I to know what a power vacuum there would be with those two out of the picture?”

Castiel swallows his hurt and anger, for the moment, for his lost brothers. His head aches, his thoughts are confused and he’s having a difficult time trying to understand his Uncle’s motivations.

Regardless of Michael and Lucifer’s strength, their clan’s powers, the Marid’s, have always been far greater than Crowley’s. “This makes no sense. Since when do we need their magic? The Shaitan’s strength has always been inferior to ours.”

As soon as he asks, realization dawns on Castiel as to why Zachariah would agree to unite their powers with that of Crowley’s. _Because with Lucifer banished, and Hajji and Michael all but_ _missing…_ _Of course!_ He can’t believe he didn’t see the connection sooner. His clan’s power has always been unrivaled regardless of their fewer numbers. Now, without their two most powerful djinn and no Hajji, the resulting power-gap shifts the advantage in favor of the Shaitan’s weaker magic, but greater numbers.

“So, if it’s more power you crave for our people, then you should permit me to go back to Dean.” He argues, offering a more logical as well as more agreeable (to him) solution. “He and I together will wield more power than I ever could with some monster that I don’t love, or ever will.”

“Like a dog with a bone, eh, Castiel?” Zachariah snaps, clearly exasperated. “You have a point though, I’ll give you that. You and Dean would have been quite the formidable ‘power-couple’. But nah, not worth it. He’s too volatile and well, like you said, with you by his ah, side, too powerful. Nope, he won’t do. And besides, there’s protocol we have to follow here. We can’t just have some upstart come in and think that just because he’s grown too big for his britches, that all of this would be his without earning it first.”

“Dean would be an honorable and just ruler!”

“But he doesn’t want you, you ninny!” Zachariah yells. “Dear Hajji how can I get that through that thick head of yours?” He declares on a loud exhale. “You know, not to beat a dead horse, but I did show remarkable restraint when that human had the effrontery to imprison me in a bottle of my own design. Why, if it hadn’t been for you, I may have not been so lenient.” Voice rising along with the recollection. “So, how about we get back to the business at hand, and prepare your pretty little self for your pretty future wife.” He turns away from Castiel and claps his hands loudly, ending their argument.

The deafening silence is immediately filled with the murmurs and sounds from dozens of attendants and servants surrounding them; each one holding bolts of silks or trays over-flowing with precious jewels, bushels of flowers, or playing soft melodies from a variety instruments they can hear drifting in from the adjoining garden.

…

In Coco Beach, Florida, Dean, straight back and brooding, along with his not so merry crew of astronauts, waits in General Winchester’s office to deliver their report on the previous day’s debacle, and to hear his verdict on how it will affect their careers.

John scans through the papers Sam handed to him as soon as they were called into his office, his face dark and pensive.

“So when did the Emir see the tiger?” The General can’t believe he’s asking.

“Sir, the, uh, tiger, was a projection that the Emir believed to be real.” Sam begins, covering only the very basic details of their meeting with El Yakman and glossing over Castiel’s role, or lack thereof. He’s also omitting any mention of the djinni’s supernatural uncle, as decided by the whole group the night before. “We explained to him that we use the disturbing images to challenge our trouble shooting abilities as applied to real life distressing scenarios that might arise when we’re in outer space and need to have those skills sharpened and we-“

“Okay, Lieutenant.” John says, dismissing and silencing the rest of Sam’s incoherent ramble. He continues to peruse the remainder of the report with a detachment that unnerves his officers and sets them on edge. “What was Castiel’s role in all of this?” He wants to know.

Dean clears his throat before speaking. “Sir, those remarks have not been added to the initial report. We would, if you permit, like to add our personal observations on that particular subject, verbally.” He pauses and waits for the General’s permission before proceeding.

John looks up at his eldest son, and nods for him to continue, his face unreadable but his eyes sharp and focused.

“Sir, it’s our opinion that El Yakman and his entourage’s main agenda at the base was not so much to meet up with Castiel, as he initially claimed, but to learn what our main purpose and use would be for the phinkilium. We therefore only explained, superficially, the ins and outs of our projects here and in conjunction with our main offices at NASA. He, ah, wasn’t convinced.” Dean fibs feebly. He hates lying to the General but more so to his father. But his hands are tied. They need to find out the truth behind the Emir and his mysterious connection to Castiel and Zachariah before they can honestly offer a comprehensive explanation to their superior.

They all hold their breath expectantly while the General sits quietly mulling over their presentation. “Men, I’m at a loss.” He eyes them critically. “You have all failed, miserably. Captain,” He directs his gaze on Dean. “I’m afraid that as the leader of this group of misfits, you will be taking the brunt of their punishment.”

He gets up stepping away from his desk to stand in front of him. “You and your team will leave by o-three-hundred today and fly to Kasha where you will once again meet with the Emir to re-broker our partnership and re-stake our claim for the rights to their phinkilium.” He drops his eyes and takes a deep breath. When he looks back up, his face is a mask of regret. “And effective immediately, you will no longer be a Captain. Dean, I have no choice but to demote you to Lieutenant.”

It’s another blow. But Dean’s already so numb it barely registers. “Sir, yes, sir.” He replies grimly.

“Okay, go get packed. You’ll all be briefed one hour before your flight with the details of this new mission. Don’t fail me again.” He tells them ominously. “Dismissed.” He says and motions for them to leave.

Dean, Sam, Gabriel and Benny, all salute and file out, one by one, behind Dean.

…

As soon as they’re all out of the General’s office, Dean blinks them back to Sam’s place where Balthazar promised to be waiting.

“Where is this _wedding_ …” Dean starts to ask, spitting the word wedding out with a great deal of effort. “Taking place?”

“Well, that was quick. I’d ask how it went but from your dire expressions, I assume, not so well.” Balthazar answers dryly.

“Listen you prick,-“ Dean advances.

“Balthy, where and when, already.” Gabriel intervenes.

“Oman. Tomorrow.” Balthazar helpfully, although reluctantly, supplies.

“Well, gentlemen," Dean turns to face his men, jaw set with grim determination. "Good luck on your mission to Kasha. I’m going to Oman.” he announces. “You…” He gestures to Balthazar. “You’re coming with me.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here are translations to some of the terms and names used in Arabic. Again, I sincerely hope I haven't butchered the meanings too badly. No offense intended, evah!
> 
> Shahnaz Al-Sayyida Meghan, means, Pride of the king, Lady Meghan. Yeah, I know, Meg a lady??? But hey, it's not like Crowley would give his heir the title of 'Demon-Spawn', right?   
> Khalifa- is successor, next ruler   
> Faysal= is kinda like a lawyer, but in this case, the separator between good and evil and the one that would decide who will pass into Kaf, the djinn's heaven.


	16. Operation-Rescue Castiel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The plan was simple, not too complex or complicated. Get in. Get the djinni. Get the bottle. Get out. 
> 
> But plans don’t always go, well, as planned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for butchering some classic SPN lines in this chapter.

“Whoa, Dean, hold up!” Sam shouts, leaping on his brother and grabbing his arm before he can vanish.

“Damn it, Sam! You can’t talk me out of this.” Dean barks, eyes glowing green with fierce determination. But he doesn’t try to shrug Sam off, placing his own hand, instead, over his brother’s larger one.

Sam shakes his head, long bangs falling over his kind eyes. “I wouldn’t think of it.”

Dean’s grip softens upon hearing Sam’s words. “Sammy, no. Dad’s gonna be pissed and I’m pretty sure my career will be over after this.” He swallows, throat clicking audibly around that sad fact. “I can’t let you come with me.” He says squeezing Sam’s hand, eyes glazing over with gratitude.

“Heh, bro, you forget, I have a djinni of my own. So, if you don’t take me with, well then…guess I’ll just have to meet you there.”

Dean can’t help but grin. “You stubborn son-of-a-bitch.” He huffs in amusement. “Okay, but Gabe…” He looks over to address the djinni. “Both eyes and all of your mojo solely focused on keeping Sammy safe, you got me.” He orders.

They can practically hear Sam’s eyes roll from his brother’s over protective comment. “Dean, man, come on. I’m fully capable of taking care-“

Gabe takes Sam by the hand and tugs. “Sam, I hate to say it, but I’m with Dean-o on this one. You. Are not. Leaving. My sights. For even. One. Second.” He promises, enunciating each word to emphasize the sincerity of his commitment.

“Whoa, ah, okay, I guess.” Sam laughs softly, cheeks turning pink, emphasizing the depth of his dimples.

A loud cough from behind gets their attention. “So, ah, boss,” Benny says when Dean turns to him. “If it’s okay with you, I’m gonna go and stir up some new recruits for this trip to Kasha. I’m pretty sure I can convince Joanna-Beth and even Charlie to take the trip with me. And no worries, you can trust those two to keep this strictly confidential.” He says, lips curling slightly in a small-pleased smile that’s barely hidden under his neatly clipped beard.

 _Goddamn, I’ve got good friends._ Dean thinks, swallowing down the lump currently lodged in his throat. “Benny, man…not you too!”

Benny stares seriously at his friend, but his clear blue eyes sparkle with good humor regardless, or in spite of, the gravity of their situation. “You’re still my Captain and I’m gonna back you on whatever foolhardy decision you make. But, as your friend, I’m gonna do whatever _I_ _can_ to make sure you get that fiancé of yours back with you where he belongs.” His tone final.

Decisions made all around, Dean gives in gratefully to his friends’ pigheaded desire to fight by his side in his desperate attempt to win back his djinni, Castiel.

…

They learn from Balthazar that even if Dean manages to get near Castiel he still has to fight off the djinni’s other suitor, which according to the blonde djinni, will be exceedingly difficult.

One reason is that the Shaitan, a weaker sect than the Marid, makes up for their lack of power by hiring the Ghul: a morally corrupt djinn with formidable fighting skills and vast numbers,

Secondly, but more alarming, is the fact that they will have Zachariah, more than likely, fighting on their side.

And finally, but even more demoralizing, is the fact that regardless of his or Castiel’s desire to be together, superior powers or no, the only way for the djinni to leave is if Dean can get his hands, literally, on Castiel’s bottle.

“Okay, doesn’t sound too impossible.” Dean remarks flippantly. “Hey since when is our life easy?” He asks defiantly when they all groan at his inappropriate levity. “Seems to me that if we can avoid tangling with the Shitties and the Ghoulies, and just go straight for Cas’ bottle, then, easy-peezy.” He shrugs.

Balthazar looks up to the heavens and sighs loudly. “ _This,_ is the chosen one?”

Gabriel, who up until then had been snuggling, not too subtly, against Sam, straightens at Balthazar’s comment. “Balthy, you genius!”

At Gabriel’s enthusiastic declaration, they all perk up. When all he gets are confused glares, he puffs up impressively and explains. “I know for a fact that Dean, our fearless leader, love of our brother’s life, and the brunt for many of my future pranks, will succeed, without a doubt.”

“Care to explain exactly how?” Dean asks brow furrowed but intrigued.

“You said so yourself, easy-peezy, for the _one_ , at least.”

Dean stares at him blankly, patience wearing thin. He’s eager to leave and is about to retort, scathingly, when his brother beats him to it.

“Gabe, babe, can’t you just answer the question without double-talk?” He asks tiredly, brows rising so high they disappear under his bangs.

“Oopsie, Sam, yeah.” He apologizes and without losing any of his previous excitement, says, “Dean, you only need to _touch_ Cassie and will the bottle to appear.”

“???”

He’s still too vague, but from Balthazar’s expression, he can see that his brother, at least, seems to understand what he’s implying.

“Don’t you see, you share the same power, and together your hold over Castiel’s bottle is so overwhelming that the bottle will have no choice but to go to you. Zachariah be damned!” He concludes, holding his arms up triumphantly.

“?????”

“Aww, come on guys!”

…

It’s not until they all settle on a definitive plan, snarkily nicknamed by Gabriel as the ‘GetCastielBackAtallCostsOrDean’sGonnaLoseHisShit’ directive, that they finally take their leave from one another.

“Okay, so we’re all good with the plan?” Dean asks for the umpteenth time.

“Yeah, yeah. Don’t worry so much. It’s a piece of cake, so chill-axe, and we’ll meet you there, with one grumpy messy-haired djinni in hand.” Gabriel reassures.

“Okay, then.” Dean nods tersely, and before any of them can reply, vanishes.

…

The plan was simple, not too complex or complicated. Get in. Get the djinni. Get the bottle. Get out.

But plans don’t always go, well, as planned.

“So, what part of ‘touch-Cassie-so-that-we-can-get-a-location-on-his-bottle’, did you not understand?” Balthazar asks snidely, lying next to Dean, trussed and ready for roasting.

Dean shoots him a warning glare, not at all amused by the blonde djinni’s special blend of sarcastic humor and focuses instead on trying to get his wrists unbound from the magical ties that have him spit-ready.

“You really thought you could waltz in here and take what’s clearly not yours?” Zachariah asks unbelievingly, appearing suddenly and walking over to hover menacingly over them.

“Look,” He bends towards Dean’s ear, as if about to impart a secret massage. “As a last minute wedding gift to Castiel, I will refrain and not take your lives.” He moves towards Balthazar. “Especially, you nephew. Castiel would be devastated to learn of his favorite brother’s demise on his wedding day. So, whadda you say you boys behave for the next couple of hours, and then you can go on your merry way, hm?” He asks, clapping his hands and vanishing as abruptly as he appeared.

 _Before this is done, I’m gonna make sure you pay!_ Dean swears to himself.

He waits until he’s sure Zachariah’s gone before speaking. “Okay, on to plan B.”

Lying next to him, he can clearly make out Balthazar’s snort. “Hajji help us.”

…

Earlier, when they had ‘popped’ into what Balthazar had assured was the groom’s bedchamber, both he and Dean raced to find Castiel’s bottle. When the bottle didn’t turn up, they set their sights on Castiel. Again, without any luck.

“What the fuck?” Dean complained. “Where the fuck is he?” He asked Balthazar. “I thought you said this was his room.”

“Well, he’s obviously been relocated and if you can’t feel him, then I am most definitely at a loss.” Balthazar had countered. “For Hajji’s sake, just, I don’t know, call out to him with your impressive possessive manly chromosomes, or the such. I mean, didn’t we plan this out, already?”

As if on cue, and because Dean swears that if he didn’t have bad luck, he wouldn’t have any, alarms began to blare, announcing their presence to Zachariah and guaranteeing their capture.

Using his own magic, Zachariah had both men bound and incapacitated. He took special care on Dean, not only tying his wrists with magical bracelets, but further dampening his powers by placing a golden Torc around his neck.

That was hours ago. Hours of Dean struggling and Balthazar cursing. All attempts to get free, futile. Zachariah’s magic too old and too powerful for him to overcome on his own.

Now, with the clock counting down, the sounds of guests filing in and still no sign of Castiel, Dean reluctantly leans towards the possibility of failure.

_Fuck no! Dean Winchester does not give up!_

With one last explosive push of his stifled powers and hoping to tap into their psychic link, he calls out to Castiel.

_‘Cas!’_

…

“Leave me.” Castiel says softly to the servant boy currently wrapping a brightly colored silk sash around his trim waist.

The boy bows and backs up, trying to leave the room without turning around. After tripping over an ottoman, falling onto his behind and letting out a loud whoosh in surprise, Castiel takes pity and helps him up.

“Samandriel, you may turn and walk out, face forward. Please, watch where you’re going.” He chuckles.

“Thank you your Excellency.” Samandriel answers shyly, deep pink blush coloring his young face prettily, and bows again, in deference.

“Enough of that. And please don’t address me as such, I am _far_ from Excellent.”

“Now, now, nephew, I wouldn’t go that far. The boy should know to respect his betters. And whether you like it or not, you are better. And in a few hours, you will be Excellent.” Zachariah declares triumphantly.

Castiel, still struggling to keep his composure from slipping, is about to argue, when a soft knock on his door gets his attention.

When he sees who enters, it takes a colossal amount of strength to stop himself from bringing the walls down around them. “You?!” He growls angrily.

“Castiel, it’s so good to see you again.” El Yakman says, voice booming loudly in the sudden silence. “So sorry to have missed you back at Coco Beach, but, better late than, well…blah, blah, blah.” He says and casually walks in, stopping only a foot from the shocked djinni and blinks. “Ah, much better.”

Now free from his disguise as a Middle Eastern businessman, Castiel easily recognizes Crowley, the tyrant that pushed for his long captivity. The Shaitan, now outfitted in a long crisp linen robe adorned with a heavily jeweled neckline and turban, is once again the image of Castiel’s nightmares.

 _My Master was right! It was all a trap._ He shudders at the awful realization.

“Ah yes, Yakman, come in, come in.” Zachariah says rushing past his nephew to greet the Emir.

Castiel regards both men with stunned disbelief. “This is absurd!” He spits. “Why not call this demon by his true name, uncle? Or does uttering the name Crowley, sicken you as well?” He asks Zachariah disgusted by this ultimate betrayal.

El Yakman, now Crowley, laughs softly at Castiel’s indignation. “Always charming to the end, eh Malak.” He walks past Zachariah to stand right in front of Castiel. “Now don‘t go getting your knickers all in twist. You want to look your best for the wedding tonight and for Meg.” He leers.

“Uncle, are you really going through with this?” Castiel pleads looking back at Zachariah.

“I have to, it’s in our nation’s best interest.” Zachariah reasons with an infuriating shrug.

Crowley grabs Castiel’s arm, fingers digging painfully into his forearm. “Now you listen to me, djinni, and you listen well. You will finish getting ready. You will leave this room when my men come to escort you to the altar. You will take that sour look off your pretty face and smile happily when facing my guests. Marid or no, I will destroy you, and your reign over your beloved realm will be over before it even begins.” He snarls.

Castiel tries to break from his hold, eyes widening at how impossibly strong the Shaitan has become.

“Uncle,” He looks to Zachariah. “What have you done?”

“Just a little insurance, Castiel. You see, Meg was the one who was supposed to release you after your imprisonment. As a matter of fact, we were going to send her to release you in no more than hundred year’s time.” He snaps his fingers at the recollection. “But, then Hajji declared a two thousand year imprisonment - hey his idea, not mine - and, well, when your time was up, and we went to get you, why you were already gone. Ruining our plans, again.”

“I’m glad to ruin your plans.” The djinni replies coldly.

“Hey now, if you’re still sore about being stuck in that bottle for so long, don’t blame me-“

“I thank Hajji, now more than ever, for keeping me safe in my bottle until my true Master found me. He knew Dean would be the one that would finally set me free. Not Meg.” Castiel yells at him defiantly.

“There you go again, getting ahead of yourself.” Zachariah tsks.

“I refuse.” Castiel says on a sharp intake of breath. “Do what you must; I will not be joined with that Shaitan’s evil clan.”

“Oh I beg to differ, Castiel, you will and you’ll like it. Or…” Crowley pauses for effect. “I’ll have to take it out on the one which you treasure most.”

Crowley’s words hit Castiel like a physical blow. _Dean. He means Dean._ He realizes with horror.

“Oh dear, you thought I didn’t know about your epic love affair with the ever resistant but always persistent Captain Winchester?” The Shaitan asks mockingly. “About the Master that relinquished his hold over you?” He continues, bringing up the cruel reminder. “The very one that we just so happen to have under guard this very moment along with your brother.”

Crowley pauses to relish the sight of the djinni crumbling before him. “Nothing, and I mean nothing, about you is a mystery to me, love.” He hisses, and looks down, fingers relaxing, loosening his grip on Castiel’s arm, the tips caressing the badly bruised skin.

He walks around the shaking djinni and takes a seat, blinks a flute of champagne into his hand and takes a slow sip before continuing.

“Meeting him at the base really did prove to be most fortunate, _for me_. Sure, my sole purpose for that god-awful trip was to persuade you into joining me immediately and avoid that charade with the phinkilium.”

“Charade?” Castiel questions.

“Hmph, yes, with the phinkilium. Those foolish mortals believed I would willingly hand it over.” He leans forward in his chair, eyes squinting. “Nothing is free, mate and I was afraid they would refuse my price, namely, handing you over. So, no you, no phinkilium.”

Castiel’s lips part in a soft gasp, barely above a whisper. “You don’t need me. Surely, with your vast numbers, your alliance with the Ghul, and Zachariah’s influence, you have enough power at your disp-“

“It has to be you.” he huffs tiredly. “My dear Marid, right now, you and your uncle are the strongest most powerful of the djinn. But still no match against my greater numbers.” He quickly adds. “And well, keeping Meggy’s demanding tastes in mind, cancels out your dear old uncle as a potential suitor. So that leaves you." he explains. "Now, your uncle and I have come up with a plan that will be of great benefit to both our clans. Once this deal is sealed, we will all come out of this as winners.” He says excitedly, eyes pulsing with an eerie absent glow, a bottomless pit of absolute black that is the mark of a true Shaitan.

Castiel stares back, schooling his features, eyes blue ice-chips, cold and expressionless, masking the violent emotions swirling dangerously through his system, growing more and more agitated with every word Crowley utters.

“I want to combine your formidable strength with Meggy’s.” Crowley finally reveals, looking steadily into Castiel’s eyes. “Don’t you see, your hybrid babies will be powerful, the most powerful of all the djinn tribes. They will be a new sect. The greatest the world has ever seen. And we will be their lords.” He pauses a beat. “However, if you continue to refuse me, I could always tap into the energies you’ve already generously bestowed on your ex.”

Castiel’s mask crumbles. His shocked gasp, louder this time, more audible against Crowley’s threat, against his revelations, against his madness. “You’re insane! Only Hajji can create-“

“Look,” Zachariah quickly interjects. “I swear we won’t do any permanent damage to the human so long as you do as you’re told and play the role destiny laid out for you, Castiel.” He promises magnanimously. “And, to ah, make sure that you do follow through, I’ve already handed your bottle over, as an early wedding present, to Meg. For safe keeping, of course. So you see, nephew, I had to do it. I couldn’t have you flying off and disappearing on us again, now could I?”

Paralyzed with fear for Dean: be it torture, the real possibility of imprisonment in a bottle, or worse, subjecting him to Meg’s lunacy, Castiel bows his head in defeat. “Please uncle, if I ever meant anything to you, I beg you to not harm Dean and release him and my brother immediately. Do this and I promise to not fight you anymore.”

“Glad to see we’re all finally on the same page, nephew. Very glad, indeed.” Zachariah beams.

…

Outside, under the clear night sky, Castiel looks up to the stars and begins to recite the names to all of the constellations he knows, and inventing ones for the clusters, he doesn’t. Still reeling from his earlier dealings with Crowley and Zachariah, he hopes that doing this will stave off the despair that’s already clutching at his anguished heart, threatening to swallow him whole, leaving nothing but an empty shell in its wake.

A welcoming warmth settles in his chest when he remembers the last time he did this: back in Coco Beach, lying in the sand, wrapped in his Master’s arms after an especially athletic bout of skinny-dipping.

 _‘Dean…’_ He sobs.

“Hello, angel.” Meg purrs in greeting, startling the djinni from his grief. “Never thought the day would come, but, here we are.” She snorts. “Daddy told me not to give up, but, when he came back empty-handed without his little prize, well, you can’t blame a girl for losing hope.”

She sashays towards him, high-heels clicking on the paved walkway and stops beside him, standing on her toes regardless of her sky-high heels to leave a red smeared kiss on his stubbled cheek. “Sure do look pretty.” She muses, eyes narrowed and calculating as she takes in the grim looking djinni under the twinkling lights adorning the garden’s trees.

Castiel, lips a tight white line, brow creased, takes two steps away from her. “I see you still enjoy the sound of your own voice, Meg.” He replies icily.

Meg throws her head back and cackles. “Fuck, I forgot how feisty you can be. I likey!” And closes the distance, once again, to grab him by the neck and force a brutal kiss on his tightly sealed mouth.

“It’s no use fighting me, _Cassie_ , your shiny little bottle, currently in my possession, means your pretty little ass is mine.” She pulls him down again to her level, fingers digging into his neck, and forces his lips to part, faltering when a startled gasp from the djinni makes her pause.

 _‘Cas, where are you?’_ Castiel feels Dean’s distress.

“Heh…” She smirks. “Knew you liked it rough. Oh, we are going to have so much fun once we get this troublesome wedding out of the way. And then your uncle can finally declare that you are truly and completely mine. Forever. To do with as I please.” She squeals gleefully, eyes all black, the whites and iris swallowed by the added power the Marid unwittingly transmits.

Castiel trembles at her words and the hopelessness of his dismal future, inadvertently loosening his tight grip over his powers, and even though only a bare trace accidentally spills into her, he can clearly see the stunning effect the added amount of his magic has on the Shaitan.

 _‘Cas, please, come on, man.’_ Dean insists.

Castiel’s pupils dilate from the sweet sound, heart skipping a beat from the desperation reaching out to him. Hearing Dean’s voice echoing in his head, gives him the strength to keep fighting and not lose hope.

“What, kitty got your tongue?” She taunts. “No biggie. I’ll see you at the end of the aisle, baby. Remember, whatever the Shaman asks, the correct answer is ‘I do.’” She winks and spinning on her heel walks across the garden back to the main ballroom.

When she’s out of earshot, Castiel allows himself to collapse onto the nearest bench. “Dean!” He whimpers low and hopeful. _‘Master, stay away, please, it isn’t safe.'_ He calls out with his mind, warning Dean, hoping he’s managed to escape, heart sinking knowing that he’ll never see his beloved again.

…

Outside the palace, Sam and Gabriel marvel at the over the top decorations Zachariah put in place for the dual purpose of celebrating Castiel and Meg’s ceremony, and announcing the future ruler of the Marid.

The palace and grounds, already impressive, are now opulently adorned with lights and colorful banners hanging from every window, balcony, turret, winding around every path, and fluttering from the highest peak of the tower’s minaret.

Every nook and cranny is set ablaze with twinkling lights, turning night into day. Even the guards, attendants and servants are dressed in their best for the evening’s wedding and the inauguration of the new rulers.

Next to Sam’s towering figure, Gabriel lets out a long undulating whistle. “Wow! Even I’m impressed.” He says with awe and looking up to Sam asks, “Sammy, Master, can we please, partake, for a little while?”

Sam tilts his head down and captures his djinni’s lips. “No.”

Gabriel hums into the kiss, eyes closed, large grin on his happy face. “Okee-doe-kee by me.” He answers without argument, swaying dreamily on the spot.

“What say we go storm the castle, instead?” Sam suggests with a mischievous twinkle in his hazel eyes.

…

 _‘Cas?’_ Dean thinks, eyes scrunching in concentration when he receives a weak signal coming from Castiel, latching onto it like a warm embrace. __

_Baby, I’m here where are you?’_ No answer.

“Balthazar!” He whispers. “I’m gonna try something, now just play along, alright.” He says and starts shouting before Balthazar can answer.

“Guards! Yo, guards! Hey, dicks! I’ve got an emergency here!”

Immediately five, overly muscled, scimitar carrying, Ghul pop into his field of vision, lips curled back menacingly with murder in their eyes.

“You’re hurting our ears, human.” One of them sneers.

“If you don’t quiet, orders or no, I will cut out your tongue.” Another threatens.

Dean smirks at the dangerous pair while Balthazar lies quietly next to him, impressing the astronaut with his self-control.

“Well, why do you screech so, monkey?” A third asks.

“Ah, yeah, well, you see, I’ve got an itch that I just can’t seem to scratch.” He tells them jangling his bound wrists. “So, um, if you could just loosen these, I’d really appreciate it.” Dean wisecracks.

The Ghul look at each other questioningly, heads cocked to the side, unsure. A fourth one walks up to Dean’s bound figure, half smile exposing yellow jagged teeth.

Dean scowls.

“Brothers, I believe the talking monkey may be trying to trick us into unbinding him.”

When his eyes begin to glow a sickly yellow, Dean’s stomach drops.

“Monkey, on which limb is this itch? For it will be my greatest pleasure to dispose of it and rid you of such a nuisance.” He offers graciously.

From behind this decidedly frightening djinni, Dean hears the fifth, and obviously leader of the group snort as he approaches. “Better yet, why not rid ourselves of this troublesome human once and for all.” The dark haired bearded djinni suggests, and leaning low, only inches away from Dean’s face, hisses, “And to keep things fun, I’m going to destroy you with my bare hands. No magic.”

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you, Virgil.” Balthazar speaks up, drawing the Ghul’s attention away from Dean.”

“Balthazar, why am I not surprised that you would mingle with such filth? You always did show a rather unfortunate fondness for this lowly breed. And now, you sink even lower by standing up for one?”

“Oh I don’t know, perhaps it’s because I can trust this human to not stab me in the back the second I turn it, unlike any one from your clan, even if you are under my uncle’s orders to behave.”

“Can’t blame a Ghul for trying to make a living. You of all djinn can appreciate taking advantage of an opportunity when one comes along. To side where the strength lies.” Virgil elaborates, eyes sparkling with an eerie yellow glow. “And besides, presenting his head to my mistress will insure me a permanent place in her garrison.” He adds with undeniable pride.

Balthazar laughs out loud, mockingly. “Meg? Crowley’s heir? You’re telling me you truly believe you’ll receive favor with her tribe if you kill the hybrid?”

Virgil takes a step back. “What did you call him?” He asks pointing to Dean.

Balthazar grins, and just like the Ghul pointed out, sees an opportunity and jumps at it. “This, you sorry excuse for a djinni,” Balthazar taunts, “Is a hybrid, or, if you prefer in prophetic terms, _The_ _One._ ”

When he sees Virgil and the rest of the Ghul fall back, he goes in for the kill. “What would Crowley say if you harmed the one being in existence that could fuel his power to rival those of the Marid?”

“Yes, truly, the punishment would be great.” Virgil says to himself. “However,” He continues looking over at Balthazar with a new gleam in his eyes. “Perhaps I could drain just a little bit of that precious power for myself. Surely, the Shaitan would not begrudge me a taste?”

Next to him, Balthazar can feel Dean tense. He moves his elbow, fractionally, signaling to him to keep quiet. “Well, seeing as he is supposed to have a limitless amount of power, so long as he gets recharged every so often by Castiel, that is, then no, I don’t see how Crowley would even find out if you took a sample.” Balthazar lies.

“The fuck, Balthazar?” Dean hisses low next to him, earning him another minor jab to the ribs.

Virgil, ignorant of their exchange, walks back to his previous spot next to Dean. He bends over; hand splayed out, sweeping it back and forth slowly, gently, like a lover’s caress, an inch above Dean’s quivering body. “Hajji, I can feel the hum of power radiating off of him.” He inhales deeply, hand hovering temptingly over Dean’s dick. “It is…intoxicating.”

“Now, now, Virgil. Do you want to start a riot?” Balthazar asks motioning towards the gathered Ghul. “You know you can’t take power from this human with an audience.” and whispers secretively so the other Ghul don’t hear. “Unbind him, and ah, take him somewhere you won’t be interrupted. Then you can suck out as much as you want.” He instructs helpfully.

Dean twists his head to glare at Balthazar, stomach heavy with dread.

“Oh, and Virgil, mind you keep your hands on his binds when you partake of his, well…” Balthazar smiles, winking confidentially.

Virgil looks at Balthazar with thinly veiled contempt, but thanks him regardless.

“Men, watch the Marid while I go question the monkey, in private.” He orders and straightening, lays his hand on the golden bracelet around Dean’s wrist.

Two things happen the instant Virgil touches the bracelet: **One** , Dean absorbs the Ghul’s magic and uses their combined powers to counter Zachariah’s spell over the bracelets enough so that, **Two** , he is able to stun all five Ghul unconscious and free himself and Balthazar.

“Seriously?” Dean asks Balthazar once he’s gotten their bracelets off, tearing off the Torc and blinking it out of existence. He rounds on Virgil’s body and with one snap of his fingers, has him bound and trussed, hog-tied, on the table.

“That’s an interesting choice of knots.” Balthazar remarks off-handedly.

“Yeah, but not the sexy kind.” Dean replies. “And what the hell was that all about?”

“What?” Balthazar answers innocently. “I was following your lead, which by the way, was going to get us killed.”

“That dick was about to rape me!” Dean all but screeches, body shuddering involuntarily at the horror.

“Pfftt. Don’t be so dramatic. I knew what would happen once that lackey touched your binds. At least I guessed that’s what would happen.”

Dean gapes, fish mouthing for a comeback.

“Please, don’t hurt yourself looking for a retort. I assure you that I was ninety-five percent certain that once he touched your bracelet, his magic, combined with your ‘unbridled’ power would short the connection.”

“So, that’s all it took?” Dean asks, calming down, knowing that if he hadn’t experienced it, he wouldn’t have believed it.

“Well, they may be merciless, self serving, killers. But luckily for us, not the shiniest djinn in the bottle.” Balthazar quips.

Dean shrugs in approval. “Yeah, okay, that date-rape-dick got what he deserves. Now come on. I think I got a feed on Cas.” And gripping Balthazar by the bicep, blinks them both away.

…

**Kasha**

“Janab, al weiayaat al-muttahedah al-merkeyah wakeel amal adhana ja’ala ihhtiram.” An emissary calls out in a loud melodic drawl, announcing to the Emir the arrival of Benny and his teammates.

“Lieutenant?” El Yakman greets brow furrowed. “Where’s the Captain?” he smirks, already fully aware of Dean and Balthazar’s captivity in Oman, eying Benny and his crew with shrewd interest “I graciously accepted General Winchester's apology on the grounds that Captain Winchester would attend this meeting to personally offer his own apologies for his abominable actions. Don’t tell me he’s baled on me again? Surely, there’s nothing more important than my phinkilium? Or is there?”

“Your Excellency, he’s been detained and won’t be able to join us for this meeting.” Benny answers, omitting Dean’s new status as Lieutenant. “I, along with the rest of my team, hope to earn your good will and the favor of your wonderful country to the benefit of both.” He says diplomatically. “I have come bearing gifts from the United States and General Winchester for you and your country.”

El Yakman regards him coolly. “Yes, thank you, Lieutenant Lafitte. As a matter of fact, your timing is quite unfortunate. I won't be able to entertain you since I’m on my way to attend a wedding in Oman.” He pauses, eyes lighting up with an idea. “Ah, would you and your colleagues care to join me?” He asks when Benny raises his brows in surprise.

“It would be a great honor, your Excellency.”

…

**Oman**

_‘Cas?’_ Dean tries without success. _‘Come on baby, give me a location.’_ He sends out into the ether.

They’ve been flying, literally, around the compound trying to pinpoint from where Castiel’s initial signal had come.

“I say we go to the main hall, hide, gather our strength, which we will need, and be ready to pounce." Balthazar tells Dean matter of fact.

“Fuck that, Balthazar, I need a little more than just ‘wait and see’.” Dean grouses.

Balthazar huffs out in frustration; Dean crosses his arms and pouts.

“I’m not stopping until I hear from Cas.” He says stubbornly. Balthazar rubs his face roughly.

“I will definitely need a vacation after this.” He swears. “Fine, let’s try again.” And raises his head in the hopes to capture the slightest signal from his missing brother.

…

After failing to meet up with Dean and Balthazar, Sam and Gabriel come up with their own plan to find Castiel and reunite the wayward djinni with his Master.

Inside the palace, disguised as emissaries from foreign countries, they decide to mix and mingle with the assembled masses, and hope to catch a glimpse of Meg or Castiel, knowing one would not be far from the other.

“Gabe, I can’t be sure, but is that El Yakman walking in with Benny?” Sam asks unbelievingly.

Gabriel floats a good ten inches above Sam’s formidable height to announce that yes, Benny is indeed walking astride El Yakman. “Looks like our boy and that joker, Yakman, managed to snag the invitation of the century.” He acknowledges.

“Cool.” Sam says impressed, too focused on his missing brother and Castiel’s plight to find it odd that Zachariah’s supposedly sworn enemy would be attending Castiel’s wedding. “Okay, still gotta find Cas. Got anything?”

“Nah, they’re not tricking out that horse and pony show until the very last minute. Must be paranoid, or something.”

Sam nods in understanding. “Yeah, can’t say I blame them. If Dean had the slightest idea where they were keeping his boyfriend, they wouldn’t be able to stop him from just grabbing Cas and making a run for it.” then adds, “Okay, so if we can’t find Cas, see if you can track that Meg person down.”

“Hmpft, person, is being kind, Master. Meg is the best example of the worst a Shaitan has to offer.” He shudders. “She makes Crowley seem practically civil, humane, fair, even tempered, though I’ve never met the man, myself.”

Sam cocks his head at that. “Wait, weren’t you there when Jeannie rejected the Blue jinn and Cas rejected Meg? And, then Crowley insisted that Cas and Jeannie be imprisoned?”

“Yes and no. I, we, Balthazar and me actually, a bunch of us, were forbidden to attend Jeannie and Cassie’s sentencing.” At Sam’s wide eyes, he clarifies. “We wanted to be there. Trust me. But Hajji knew that we would fight the verdict and try to whisk them away. It was all so royally fucked up.” He lowers his head shaking it sadly at the recollection. “So like you, this will be the first time I see that scum bag and all-around-life-ruiner, may he never be permitted into the holy realm of Kaf!” He spits.

“Well, put on your happy-shiny face for the time being, ‘cause El Yakman’s making his way over to us.” Sam nudges in warning.

“Excellency, envoys from Yemen have come to pay tribute to the new Malik and Malika on this glorious day.” The heralds announce.

El Yakman stops in front of Sam and Gabriel, taking their offered hands and shaking them, first one then the other. “Have we met before?” he asks, eyes narrowed and suspicious.

“Ah, no your Excellency, this is our first time here.” Sam replies behind his disguise. “It’s an honor and a pleasure. I am Samouel El Hamza-Hanif and this is Jibril al Rasul-Abd Allah.”

“Yea, we come to pay tribute to our future leaders and happy couple.” Gabriel adds after they bow.

El Yakman regards them for a long moment before replying. “Yes, Meg and Castiel will be walking down the aisle shortly.” He answers pleasantly enough. “Please let me introduce you to my special guests from the United States; Lieutenant Lafitte, Lieutenant Harvelle, and this lovely lady is Ms. Bradbury. All from NASA.” He whispers confidentially.

“Very nice to make your acquaintance.” Sam and then Gabriel say.

Charlie boldly walks up to them and leaning close to Sam, says, “Save the first dance for me, okay handsome.” And winks cheekily as he stumbles away.

…

”How the heck did you know it was me?” Sam asks flabbergasted.

He was convinced that his disguise of a heavily bearded sheik, sporting a highly spiraled turban, dark complexion, and outlandish robes would have easily fooled everyone.

_And yet…if she could see through it, then perhaps…_

“Oh pah-leez, how could I not?” She argues while he spins her around the dance floor. “I mean, you practically scream awkward-seven-foot-tall-American-wearing-a-poorly-pulled-off-Arabian-prince disguise.” She teases smiling widely. “And besides, you’re probably the only male still on the planet sporting honest to god leg-o-mutton side burns!”

“May I cut in?” Gabriel asks tapping Charlie on the shoulder, leaving her laughing when he takes Sam’s hand instead of hers and hauls him towards the center of the dance floor, twirling and dipping his significantly taller Master with a great flourish just as the song ends.

From the far side of the room, Sam and Gabriel hear their friend’s laughing and applauding their little display.

They take their bows, smiling and nodding, accepting slaps on their backs from Benny but turning serious when they catch Jo’s eye.

She steps up to Sam and with a little half-jump smacks him on the back of the head. “Subtle, idjit!” She hisses. “Way to keep a low profile.”

Sam looks over to Gabriel absently rubbing at the sore spot. “She’s right, Gabe. We gotta be careful.”

“Aww, Sammy, nobody even noticed.” He swears.

And one quick glance around the vast ballroom confirms Gabriel’s assurances, all sighing in relief, believing they haven’t been caught.

So they think.

“What have we here?”

From his perch on the balcony overlooking the dance floor, El Yakman’s attention naturally zeros in on the blatant display of magic from his two mysterious guests.

“Can it be?” He wonders and immediately sets about removing the supposed sheik and his friend. But when he notices how tightly the Americans flank them, he quickly moves to include them as well.

“I want all five of them escorted, this instant, to the dungeon.” He orders to his nearest aide. “Quietly and without incident.” He amends.

“Should have known the Captain wasn’t the only one with his very own djinni, eh, Jibril?” He whispers to himself, eyes glued on the suspicious sheik and his companions below.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translation of the Arabic used when Benny and his team were announced:  
> "Janab, al weiayaat al-muttahedah al-merkeyah wakeel amal adhana ja’ala ihhtiram." very loosely, hopefully, maybe, means, "Excellency, the United States envoy wish to make their respects.
> 
> Jabril, is the Arabic form of Gabriel  
> Malak is Angel in Arabic  
> Malik translates to King  
> Malika translates to Queen  
> Samouel El Hamza-Hanif -translates to mean 'Sam the steadfast and true'  
> Jibril al Rasul-Abd Allah.” - translates to mean 'Gabriel the messenger and servant of God'  
> Again, I hope that I haven't messed up too badly with these translations. I meant no harm or disrespect. All this, I do with love!


	17. The Plot Thickens

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Two,” He says raising two fingers and grins. “Under the charge of sabotage, I claim that the prisoner, Captain Dean Winchester, did knowingly and maliciously break into this palace,” he asserts. “With the sole purpose to kidnap my future son-in-law, the future Malik, Jamil El-Malak Castiel, thus preventing his marriage to the future Malika, Shahnaz Al-Sayyida Meghan, and ensuring the continued discourse and strained relations between the kingdoms of the Oman and Kasha.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just wanted to say thanks to all of you for reading! Especially yellowpretendingtobered! Your kind words and encouragement have been a great uplifter and a huge source of comfort!

The faintly glowing manacles wrapped tightly around Gabriel’s wrists have rendered him powerless.

He’s tried everything to get them off. From blinking at them, to physically pulling with all his might; quickly stopped by Sam when all he managed to accomplish was tear his flesh to ribbons. Finally, as a last ditch effort, and unbeknownst to his Master, he screws his eyes shut and channels all of his power to blink Sam to safety, but to no avail.

If it weren’t for Sam’s protective arm wrapped around his shoulder, Gabriel would swear he was in a living nightmare.

“What the hell is that dick Yakman even doing here? Why the hell would Zachariah even invite him? They’re mortal enemies, for Hajji’s sake!” He points out, turning wide scared eyes on Sam. “You think they’re in ka-hoots?” He asks in a low voice, dreading the real possibility that they might be.

Sam replies by holding him tighter, waiting for the djinni to exhaust all possible answers to his own questions before volunteering his own.

“I swear they must have recruited that evil Shaitan, Crowley, to imprison us. No way Zachariah would have done this to me, us…” Gabriel says cursing himself for being so oblivious. “And now, they’ve got us, and Cassie, and Dean too and-“

“Hey, stop beating yourself up.” Sam says, finally stepping in. “How were we supposed to know Yakman would be here, huh? And we don’t know if Zachariah has anything to do with any of this. He probably doesn’t even know we’re here!” He reasons.

“And as for Crowley, well, I haven’t seen anyone else using magic, plus I highly doubt he’d be a welcomed guest at Cas’ wedding. And for all we know, Dean and Balthazar already rescued Cas and are wondering where the hell we are.” He says all of this with a warm smile and a reassuring squeeze to the djinni’s stiff shoulder.

“Yeah, but what if the reason we didn’t see Cassie is because Zachariah’s banished him to his bottle again and Dean won’t be able to get him out this time because he’s also trapped in his own bottle, and Balthazar isn’t able to help either of them because he’s-“

“Whoa, dude.” Charlie whispers from the other corner of their cell’s floor. She crawls on all fours to where Sam and Gabriel are huddled and adds her own hug for support. “Easy there, Gabe. Everything’s gonna be okay.” She promises and sits up to place a soft kiss on top of his tawny head.

Gabriel looks up and smiles at the redhead, amber eyes glowing in gratitude. “Thanks kid. Guess I got a little carried away.”

“Definitely!” She agrees. “And I say it’s time to switch from panic-mode to escape mode.”

They all nod at her positive attitude, spirits cheered, minutely, as her enthusiasm spreads. “Besides, it’s not like Yaky or Zachy have the authority to have us executed, right?”

Sadly, Gabriel’s panicked wheezing wasn’t the reply Charlie expected to her rhetorical question.

…

“Funny, I could have sworn I just felt Gabriel’s presence.” Balthazar tells Dean, crouching next to the astronaut and hidden from prying eyes in a dark corner of the palace’s ballroom. He shakes his head as an overwhelming sense of dread and unease races up his spine. “He’s trapped. Somewhere near. I know it.”

Dean regards him quietly, mulling over their options as he sees them. “I believe you. I just got this weird tickle in the back of my head that says _‘my brother’s in danger.’_ Thing is, it’s not Sam I feel it for, it’s Gabe.”

Balthazar’s eyes widen at Dean’s revelation. “Hmph, only a full blown djinni’s powers would alert them to another djinni’s duress.” He observes with interest. “Can you feel where he’s been taken?”

“At first. Now, I don’t know…I reach out, and all I get is this _blur_ instead of him.” He tries to explain.

The blonde djinni’s shoulders droop at the news. “It’s because his powers have been dampened. I suspect he’s bound in the same fashion we were. We must find him, immediately.”

“I know, but I need to find Cas first.”

"Listen, Dean, as much as I want to find Castiel, I know that he’s not in any immediate danger. At least not until after the ceremony. So-“

“No. We split up. You go find Gabe and Sam. I’m gonna go find Cas, okay.” Dean orders.

He’s torn by his decision. He’s never put someone else’s safety over his brother’s before. But he knows without a doubt, that Gabriel will keep Sam safe. And Castiel needs him, just as much as he needs the djinni; every fiber of his being screaming out to be with him, a physical ache that won’t cease until they’re reunited.

“Very well, I suppose that’s the wisest course.” Balthazar concedes and after a beat adds, “Well then, find my brother, keep him safe and I’ll do the same for yours.”

Dean grabs the djinni by the arm before he can blink himself away. “Thanks and watch your back!” He squeezes and steps back.

“See you soon. On three.”

“Three!” They shout and vanish.

…

“Your Excellency, it’s almost time.” Samandriel announces from Castiel’s door.”

Castiel doesn’t stir from his bed. Doesn’t trust himself to move, too wrecked with shivers to stand. “Thank you, Samandriel, tell my uncle I’ll be out momentarily.” His voice impossibly deep, gruff from repressed anguish.

 _‘Beloved, I am so sorry.’_ He laments.

“Why? What unspeakable crime have you committed lately?” Dean teases, bracketing the stunned djinni’s face between his hands and resting the weight of his lower body enticingly against Castiel’s.

“Master!” Castiel gasps, blue eyes glowing in unrestrained awe. “Are you real?”

Dean lowers his face and takes the djinni’s bottom lip between his teeth, giving it a painful bite. “That real enough for you?” he mouths around the rapidly swelling flesh.

Castiel winces and sucks on the bruised skin, relishing the pain, the taste, the reality of Dean lying on top of him. “I hoped…prayed for you.” he whispers, breath hitching with pent up emotion. “But how? Zachariah gave my bottle away and now I’m powerless to-“

Dean silences his ramblings with a press of his lips. “Shh, everything’s going to be okay, now. I’ve got you. No one,” he raises his head to lock eyes. “And I mean _no one_ , is going to get between us, again. Not you,” kiss. “Not me,” kiss. “And definitely not some d-“

This time it’s Castiel’s lips that silence Dean. He snakes his hand around his Master’s neck, gripping the back of his head to deepen the kiss.

After a few glorious swipes of tongue, he pulls back. “But I still don’t understand.” He pants, words catching on chocked sobs. “They’ve hidden me and without my bottle, you should have been powerless to find me.”

Dean licks his lips, savoring the sweet-salty taste of the djinni’s tear tainted kisses. He opens his eyes, heart thudding heavily in his chest as the sweep of Castiel’s lashes, darkened and clumped from the dampness that he’s valiantly struggling to keep at bay, break Dean’s heart.

He swipes a callused thump gently over the high ridge of the djinni’s cheekbone, and says softly, “Not everybody here agrees with what those dicks are doing to us, baby.” And gestures with a flick of his head towards the open door, where Castiel sees Samandriel smile shyly and close the room’s door with a muffled click.

“Samandriel led you to me?” He asks, brows pinched as he calculates the consequences if the boy were to be discovered. “They must never find out.” He says in alarm.

Dean leans in for another kiss, knowing it has the same distracting effect on Castiel as it does on him. “Hey, hey, no one’s getting in trouble. No harm will come to our boy Alfie.” He promises and with a wave of his hand closes all the curtains surrounding the djinni’s bed to seal them in blessed privacy.

“But Dean…” Castiel says through a ragged breath, struggling to remain alert and coherent as the thick line of Dean’s dick makes him lose focus. He squeezes his eyes shut and wills his rebellious body to stop rutting against his Master’s denim clad crotch.

“Yeah, Cas?” Dean asks, his own voice thick and raspy, heated breath tickling the djinni when he nips at his ear, further weakening Castiel’s resolve.

“Dean…I…” Castiel moans softly between slow exploratory kisses, hands roaming freely to push clothing out of the way, eager to touch skin. “We need to-to stop.” he begs but continues to grind deliciously against his Master. “Stop!”

“Baby, what the hell?” Dean scowls, question ending in a high-pitched whine.

Castiel zapped the astronaut to the opposite side of his enormous bed, propping him up against the headboard and leaving him empty handed. He’s about to explain his actions when he feels a tug, originating from his navel, forcibly yank him forward by an invisible tether, landing him between two very strong arms that immediately wind tightly around his waist.

“You’re not getting away from me, Cas. So quit trying.” Dean tells the wide eyed djinni.

“Dean,” Castiel starts to protest, maneuvering until he’s straddling his Master. He places his hands on either side of Dean’s chiseled jaw, thumbnail running against the grain, gazing intently before answering. “I’m not trying to get away from you. I _never_ again want to be from your side.”

“Then why the distance?” Dean almost pouts and fails, kneading the swell of Castiel’s ass hard enough to bruise.

“We need to come up with a plan “ Castiel gasps, rocking up and down on his knees from the pressure of Dean’s grip, causing his covered cock to rub exquisitely against Dean’s stomach and Dean’s dick to catch and drag between his clothed crack. “Crowley’s guards will be here soon. And you must not be captured.” He states emphatically, albeit through bated breath.

“Crowley? I thought Zachariah’s the one behind all of this.” Dean says, suddenly sober from the the djinni's unexpected comment.

Castiel stills his hips, settles his weight on his thighs, and sits on his Master’s lap, hands resting on Dean's forearms. “They both are. They have formed an allegiance.”

Dean’s hands move from the djinni’s ass to his hips, fingers digging to hold him in place. “I don’t get it. Zach’s conspiring with Yakman’s djinni?”

Castiel shakes his head. “No.” he huffs. “Yakman _is_ Crowley. There is no Yakman, or if there was, Crowley has assumed his identity.”

“Still not making sense, Cas. Who the hell did I give a tour to at the base?”

“Master,” Castiel takes Dean’s face between his open palms and looking steadily into his eyes, starts. “You met with the Shaitan, Crowley. He was disguised as the Emir Yakman. And the sole purpose for his trip to NASA was to kidnap me, take me back to Kasha, and force me to marry his daughter.”

“Marry his daughter?” Dean asks sounding even more confused. “Zachariah was okay with that? Aren’t they, like, sworn enemies? And didn’t your dick-of-an-uncle want me to kill Yakman, in the first place?”

“He did, does, however, when you displeased Zachariah, he rejoined forces with his co-conspirator, Crowley, and together they plotted to take me to Oman instead, and force the marriage. You see, Master,” Castiel explains softly. “As you already know, they had been planning the union of our clans from the start. First with Jeannie, and when she refused, they moved on to me.

"They were never able to locate Jeannie, so when Crowley and my uncle went to release me, and found me gone, they fought, each blaming the other for ‘losing’ me. They severed their twisted relationship and went their separate ways. They still had their own agendas, however, and independently continued to search for me, planning to capture me for their own interests. It was their main driving force. Unfortunately, when I became _‘ill’_ , Balthazar, in a panic, rushed to Zachariah, and inadvertently gave away my location.”

Dean shakes his head, still confused and inhaling deeply, asks, “Why on earth would Zach want you to marry into that scumbag’s family, anyway? It doesn’t make any sense.” He insists.

Castiel drops his eyes and lowers his hands, resting them on Dean’s shoulders, absently stroking the well-defined muscles. “Oh Master.” The djinni sighs sadly. “They want me to wed Meg, Crowley's heir, and breed with her.” He confesses, cheeks deepening to an alarming red hue.

“The fuck for, Cas?” Dean asks again, voice a low dangerous snarl.

“Because together, she and I…we’ll create a, um, superior djinni, a Marid-Shaitan hybrid. Crowley and Zachariah hope that this new djinni will be more powerful than any other ever created.”

“Why you, though?” Dean asks between clenched teeth.

“Because, Master, I’m a very powerful Marid. The most powerful one left, really.” He states this monumental revelation casually, although with a heavy heart. “My powers…they…they are limitless and get stronger the more I use or don’t use them. But it’s not just that.” The djinni pauses, struggling with what he reveals next. “What makes me so, well, special, is my apparent ability to bestow superior magical powers onto others. It’s something that I’m desperately trying to get under control, because without control over it, then anyone can take my magic from me, to their terrible benefit.”

“But I thought you could only pass your powers onto me” Dean complains. “Now, anybody can take them? What happened to me being the _one_ and all that supernatural bull-shit?”

“Dean, _you_ are the only human that can take my magic from me, even against my will. It is unheard of. But," he stresses. "If another djinni holds my bottle, well then, they can force traces of it from me. But it wouldn’t last. They would need to keep me prisoner, a slave, constantly at their disposal to refuel their spent energies."

Castiel finishes his explanation, leaning away from Dean to rest on his haunches, eyes widening as he takes in the electrical current buzzing around his Master’s figure, causing the small hairs on his body to stand on end. “Dean?” he says cautiously, dragging his hands down to his Master’s biceps and squeezing.

“ _One,_ you are not marrying anybody else but me, capiche!” Dean snaps then smirks, satisfied when Castiel shakes his head vigorously in agreement.

“ _Two_ , I am getting you as far away from these pricks as I can.” he growls with conviction, reaching out to squeeze the hard muscles of the djinni’s thighs. “This bullshit ends here and now. And if they try to get you back, they’ll have to go through me.”

“Y-yes, Master.” Castiel stammers, blushing even deeper from the overwhelming wave of desire Dean’s jealousy and protectiveness inspires.

He climbs back onto Dean’s lap and slowly resumes his gyrations “But, Master,” he breathes against Dean’s cheek. “My bottle…“

Dean resumes kneading the djinni’s ass, but valiantly tries to reply. “I’ve got that covered, baby, they, um…c-can’t touch us. Balthazar and Gabe…they said once we touch that ah, the strength of our…of our bond will force your bottle to come to us.” he manages.

Castiel slows his movements and looks around, expecting his bottle to appear magically at his Master’s revelation.

“You gotta call it, baby.” Dean chuckles.

“I did.” Castiel says with a sense of foreboding.

Dean frowns at the djinni’s sudden change in behavior. “Try again.”

Castiel closes his eyes, brow furrowed deep in concentration and clutching his Master’s hand wills his stubborn bottle to manifest.

“Hey there Jamil, you’re gonna pop a blood vessel if you keep that up, baby.” They hear Meg singsong from behind the bed’s drawn curtains.

She flicks her wrist and all the drapery disappears. “You looking for this?” She asks evil grin stretched across her pretty face, swaying Castiel’s bottle over her head.

…

“Up you swine, and kneel before our Master!” A burly looking Ghul orders the cell’s inmates.

“Well, what’s it gonna be? You want us to stand up or to kneel?” Jo challenges, knowingly provoking the dangerous djinni with her sarcasm.

Cowering behind her, Charlie grabs at the Lieutenant’s arm, tugging her back and out of smiting range. “Jo, shhh!” She hisses.

Jo, never one to back down, tears Charlie’s hand off and moves closer to confront the Ghul only to be pulled back, forcibly, by Benny.

He locks eyes with the petite blonde and manages to still her with a firm shake of his head. “Not yet.” He whispers into her ear, inadvertently sending chills of _want_ down her spine.

She screws up her pretty face and yanks free from his grip. “Fine.” She spits.

“Oh good grief.” Crowley sighs in exasperation from the obvious sexual tension between the two. “Would you two like a single cell?” he goads the couple.

“Just who the hell do you think you are? We’re US astro-“ Jo begins.

“Yes, yes, very impressive. But, sadly of no consequence whilst on my land. We’re not too big on self rights, here.” He informs them.

Standing before them in his true form, free from the disguise of his alter ego, El Yakman, Crowley readies to deliver their sentence.

Sam walks up to the bars curls his fists around them and studies the Shaitan. “I don’t understand? Who the hell are you? Where’s Zachariah? Since when does Oman not honor the rights of foreign visitor’s?”

Crowley tilts his head back to look the young astronaut in the eye. “Well, guess there’s no harm in answering your myriad of questions since, well, since it won’t matter one way or the other in the next few hours.” He replies cryptically. “Hmph, nice disguise, by the way. Almost had me fooled…almost.

“My name is Crowley Al-Fathi Hashim, but, please, feel free to call me Crowley.

“Monster!” Gabriel rushes at him, slamming forcibly against the iron bars. “What have you done with my brother?!”

Crowley jumps back to the relative safety of his guards and finds himself more than a little alarmed with the way the bars rattle in their foundation from the djinni’s onslaught.

“It’s no use, Jibril.” He says addressing the djinni with the Arabic pronunciation of his name. “You will not escape me again. I have you, your Master, your friends, and Castiel under my control. So, this little outburst of yours is really, quite unnecessary.”

“I’ll have your head for this. You won’t get away with breaking up my family again, Shaitan. I won’t allow it!” He roars.

Crowley laughs, infuriating not only Gabriel, but his whole team as well. “Yes, now I remember why I insisted that Hajji remove you from the sentencing. I see now that you’ve been unsuccessful in bridling your temper these past two thousand years. Well, never mind. It won’t matter much longer.”

“Look,” Sam steps in. “What exactly do you plan on doing with us and Cas?” He asks, ignorant that Crowley believes he still has Dean and Balthazar under his guard. “You know, under the Geneva convention, we’re entitled to contact our home country and ask for their representation, under penalty of grave, well, repercussions.”

“Hmph,” The Shaitan snorts. “Nice try. But I’m afraid as far as your country is concerned, you are all, as of right now, missing in action. So…”

“Wait, what? You can’t do that!” Benny shouts; his laid back attitude and tame demeanor shattering under the Shaitan’s blatant treachery and calculated violation of their countries’ treaties.

“Oh but I can and I will.” Crowley sneers.

“We’ve come in good faith, with honorable intentions.” Benny argues, echoing the Emir’s words when he visited NASA. “Our General will send a search party for us. He’ll-“ He argues on, unconsciously gripping onto the tiny hand Jo snaked into his.

“Are you quite done, Lieutenant?” Crowley asks in a bored monotone. “Like I was saying, it’s the end of the line for you lot. So, if I were you, I’d begin by making peace with whatever deity you are currently worshiping, because it’s about to get positively medieval in here.” He gloats.

"How? Why?" Sam stammers. "What are the charges?" The amateur lawyer in him demands.

Crowley cradles his elbow in one hand while idly stoking his closely cropped beard with the other, pondering Sam's question and giving it the full consideration it deserves, before answering.

"Where to start?" He begins voice low and gravely, British accent still at the forefront. "Sabotage. Espionage. Unlawful assemblage. Pillage. Disparage." He shrugs one shoulder and adds, "Bondage? And any other assortment of _ages_ I can think of."

"You're crazy! None of that makes sense!" Sam grits out. "You're completely making it all up!"

“Guess we’ll just have to leave it to the jury to decide.” Crowley reasons. He walks closer to the bars, within grabbing distance, if Sam were so inclined, and snaps his fingers as if remembering an important fact. “Oh, that’s right, I am the jury. Judge too, as a matter of fact, and I say the charges stick, ducky.”

The prisoners, mouths agape, struggle for words.

“Wow, you really are bonkers.” Charlie says mostly to herself.

“Fucking nuts.” Jo hisses.

Sam’s loud snort grabs their attention. “He can’t touch us. He’s bluffing.” He announces confidently.

“Is that so?” Crowley asks curious and bemused at Sam’s cockiness in the face of their impending execution. “There’s no one that’s coming to your rescue, Lieutenant.”

Gabriel moves to stand next to his Master mirroring his posture; arms folded, tightly coiled stance ready to pounce.

“That’s where you’re mistaken. If we don’t report every six hours, we’re immediately reported as missing. I doubt you want the full force of the United States government knocking on your front door looking for their best astronauts. Remember, the General knows where we are.” Sam lies, hoping the Shaitan falls for his bluff.

“Bravo,” Crowley applauds Sam’s argument. “But, alas, I’m afraid it’s you that’s mistaken. You see, I have very valid claims on both the espionage and sabotage charges. And in my book, those crimes trump all others. Not even your precious General can save you.”

“How can you even say that? We came for the wedding. To pay tribute to the couple and their reign over Oman.” Sam attempts to counter, stalling for time.

Crowley cocks his head to the side and hums, tapping a perfectly manicured fingernail against his chin.

“Very well then, seems we’ll have to do this the hard way. “One, for the charge of espionage,” He begins to count. “I claim that you and your djinni came here in disguise and uninvited to gather intelligence from my guests for your devious covert plans.” He holds his hand up, halting Sam before he can interrupt.

“Two,” He says raising two fingers and grins. “Under the charge of sabotage, I claim that the prisoner, Captain Dean Winchester, did knowingly and maliciously break into this palace,” he asserts. “With the sole purpose to kidnap my future son-in-law, the future Malik, Jamil El-Malak Castiel, thus preventing his marriage to the future Malika, Shahnaz Al-Sayyida Meghan, and ensuring the continued discourse and strained relations between the kingdoms of the Oman and Kasha.”

Gabriel’s head drops at the news.

For Sam, hearing the charge is like a physical blow confirming his worst fear, that his brother and more than likely, Balthazar, are prisoners as well. _Dean!_ he screams internally, shifting his priorities immediately from self-preservation to rescuing his brother.

Crowley revels in the prisoner’s reactions, from Charlie’s shocked whimper to Jo’s stunned silence. But especially at Sam Winchester’s stony glare and tightly sealed lips, only the visible twitch in his jaw giving away his distress.

He waits a minute, giving his audience ample time to process the charges before adding, “So you see, my dear Lieutenant, it seems that I win and you and your team,” He says gesturing with a sweep his hand, “Lose.”

There’s nothing left for Sam to say. He’s done arguing, done listening and already in ‘fight-and-escape-mode’ from the second Crowley mentioned Dean’s name.

The Shaitan turns to his guards, whispers instructions to the nearest one and spins to face Sam and Gabriel once again.

“I’m afraid I must be taking my leave. Wedding to attend, daughter to give away, country to usurp. But don’t fret, once the last champagne toast is raised, I will be back to finish our business.” He promises and with a hard blink, vanishes, leaving behind only one surly looking Ghul to keep guard over them.

…

NASA’s finest snap out of their stupor once Crowley vanishes, voices rising and hands gesturing wildly to be heard. Ideas and plans formulated and knocked down at a desperate pace, finally falling silent the instant they hear the sound of their enormous guard hitting the ground.

“Please, don’t let me interrupt.” Balthazar says, small smile playing on his lips. He’s standing with one foot planted firmly on the Ghul’s prone figure, hands resting on his hips.

Wide eyes and gaping mouths quickly turn into huge grins and crinkled eyes when the djinni says, “Shall we?” and with a blink of his blue eyes, the cell’s doors magically swing open.

…

“Oh don’t look so surprised.” Meg says brashly, trailing a delicate fingernail down Castiel’s bare chest, pausing to give a painful tweak the hardened nipple. “I see your ex got you all nice and prepped for me, huh?” she laughs, turning to give Dean a knowing wink.

“Better get your fucking hands off him, you bitch, if you don’t want me to break ‘em off!” he hisses.

Meg laughs even harder at the astronaut’s fury. She steps away from Castiel’s stiff figure, now powerless because of the glowing Torc resting around his neck (eerily similar to the one used earlier on Dean, but more powerful) and, makes her way to where she blinked the human. “Thems is fighting words, baby.” She says, standing on her toes to place her hands on Dean’s shoulders and gaze into his eyes, obsidian orbs boring into green irises.

Dean’s pushed up against the wall, feet hovering inches from the floor, arms and legs splayed out and apart, held in place by her will alone. She sniffs him, and hums, leans in to lick at his pulse point and sighs. “Woo-hoo!” she says ecstatically. “Now I see why it’s so hard for my fiancé to let you go, Dean. You are absolutely scrumptious." She licks a long stripe from sternum to jaw. “I swear I can literally taste the power off your skin.” She exhales, smacking her lips dramatically.

Castiel watches the whole exchange with revulsion, his body thrumming, fighting desperately against the dampening power of the Torc. He’s been struggling, without success, for what seems like hours, even though he knows it’s been only minutes since their magic was harnessed by the Shaitan. But try as he might, as long as Meg holds his bottle, her control over him is absolute.

Every touch, every caress and every lick Meg lays on his Master, because Dean is _his_ Master, he believes this now as an indisputable truth, fuels Castiel’s own desire for vengeance. He taps into his reserves, that part of him that according to prophesy, is a limitless fount of magic, willing his powers to accumulate to levels high enough to counter and break her hold without the aid of his bottle.

And he can feel it, too. Slowly, but surely, he can feel his power surging along with his anger. The more the Shaitan touches his Master, the more he can sense his magic restore to its previous superior strength.

He clenches his fists, flexing his fingers, mentally wrapping them around her slender neck, squeezing until her life’s breath is exhausted. It’s not until the Shaitan begins to splutter and gasp for air that Castiel realizes his magic has been fully restored.

“The fuck, Cas?!” Dean yelps when Meg falls heavily against him, clutching and tearing at her throat. “Get this piece of shit off of me!” he yells with undisguised loathing lacing his words.

Castiel rushes forward, the Torc ripped off his neck and tossed unceremoniously across the room. “Dean, are you hurt?” he wants to know. He grabs Meg’s unconscious body by the scruff of the neck and yanks her off. “Are you alright?" He tries again.

“Geez, Cas, yeah.” Dean pants. He’s slumped on the floor, catching his breath, feeling dirty and desperately in need of a shower after being ‘molested’ and ‘fondled’ for far too long by Castiel’s abhorrent ex-fiancé. “Can’t believe you were going to marry her, man.” He says incredulously.

The djinni smirks. “Oh I don’t know, Meg may be a detestable and repugnant creature, but she does show extremely good taste. Wouldn’t you agree?”

Dean takes only a brief moment to size his djinni up before pulling him down for a hard kiss.

“Let’s get the fuck outta here.” He growls and wrapping his arms around Castiel’s waist, blinks them towards Balthazar’s signal.

…

“Mpfeeth!” Balthazar huffs against Gabriel’s neck. “Brother,” He claps Gabriel against the back. “You’re quite welcome.”

Gabriel lets go of the blonde djinni long enough to make eye contact. “Balthy!” He says softly and resumes the crushing embrace, his wrists healed and free from their binds, thanks to his brother.

Balthazar grunts and tries to push the shorter djinni off, almost managing it until he’s engulfed in the cage of two enormous and powerful arms.

“Dude, talk about great timing.” Sam says short of breath, and more than a little relieved to be out of their cell.

They finally release Balthazar from their arms and step back to see what he has to say.

“Um, everyone okay?” he asks tentatively.

They’re all standing in the crowded ballroom where Dean and Balthazar first parted ways and agreed to meet once they were reunited with Castiel and the rest of their team, using the large number of guests milling around as camouflage.

“Yeah, bro, I mean, thanks to you, yeah.” Gabriel’s the first to respond.

They take a moment to look around at the gathered masses who seem to be waiting patiently to be escorted to an even larger hall, where the groom and bride will say their vows and take their oaths as the new monarchs.

Sam smiles and tugs Gabriel to his side, squeezing him tightly before addressing the blonde djinni. “Thanks Balthazar. So, where’s Dean?” he asks hopefully.

Balthazar looks down, coughs into his fist, shuffles his feet, and stalls for far too long before deciding to answer. “Well, you see, we both made a choice. Mine was to come to Gabriel’s side, the more immediate in need, I argued. And he…well, he went to find Castiel.”

Sam’s stomach drops, he lets go of Gabriel and advances on his brother.

“Like I said, where is Dean.” He demands, voice low and steely.

“Yo, Sammy, cool it dude, I’m right here.” Dean calls to him from where’s he’s appeared with Castiel.

Sam lunges at his brother and wraps his arms around his shoulders, squeezing hard enough to make Dean’s muscles creak.

“Mpffeeth!” Dean grunts against his brother’s massive chest.

Sam backs off, overwhelmed with relief.

They’re back on track. Castiel is rescued. Sam, Gabriel, and the rest of the NASA team are free to leave. Dean and Balthazar have proven to be a formidable pair against the Ghul. And Meg is immobilized.

They should be able to blink out, vanish at will, but something is still preventing them from exercising their power and keeping them hostage.

“Just what the bloody hell do you lot think you’re doing?” Crowley asks with an amused note of disbelief. “I never said you were free to go, did I Zachariah?”

“No, I don’t believe that you did.” The older djinni answers, and when he blinks, all of Dean’s team, minus Castiel, find themselves back in the dungeon.

“Sonofabitch!”

…

“I’m not so sure Castiel’s the one I should be marrying now, daddy.” Meg tells Crowley. She turns from where the djinni’s seated, tightly bound with magical shackles stunting his formidable strength, to address her father directly. “I think Castiel’s ex will be a much better match. The power I tasted, mmm…” She hums, eyes fluttering shut. “It was…impressive, to say the least.” She sighs and runs her small feminine hand delicately, from her neck to cup a breast.

Crowley and Zachariah exchange an uncomfortable look at Meg’s change of heart and shift embarrassedly from her erotic display.

“The astronaut?” Crowley asks clearing his throat loudly to get his daughter’s attention.

“Mustafa?” Zachariah volunteers, using Dean’s Arabic name.

“Exactly! Or as I like to call him, Aali.” Meg replies dreamily.

“Calling him the _high one_ , are we now?” her father snorts. “Shahnaz, there is nothing _great_ , let alone _lofty_ or _sublime_ , about that one.”

Meg rushes towards Crowley, hand raised, palm open, placing it against his forehead.

He recoils as if electrocuted, clutching at his chest, gasping for air. “That was…” he doubles over, head between his knees, trying to bridle the surge of magic that his daughter’s touch transfered onto his own substantial power. When he straightens, he looks over to his daughter. “Fantastic!”

Meg smirks and looks back to Castiel. “Sorry, Malak, but it seems your number’s up.”

The djinni, Torc digging painfully into his neck, stares daggers at the Shaitan. But quickly relaxes his features, smug grin on his handsome face replacing the smite worthy glare.

Meg moves to question him, but stops when Zachariah intervenes.

“What? Not so fast Crowley.” He bellows. “Meg is marrying Castiel, my rightful heir, a true Marid. Not some human with an overblown sense of self.”

Meg, powers ridiculously heightened from her small taste of Dean, regards the spluttering older djinni with cool detachment and blinks.

“It seems to me that you and your protégé will be keeping each other company in this cozy little bottle for the next, oh millennium or so, or until I see fit to release you.” She giggles, shaking the bottle containing Zachariah’s essence cruelly.

“Now you, baby.” She coos, turning back to blink Castiel in as well, roaring in outrage when the only things left on his now empty seat are his Torc and the golden manacles.

…

Dean can’t believe they’ve been caught, _again._

“Dean…dude, stop with the pacing, you’re making me anxious.” Charlie pleads with the furious astronaut. But her pleas fall on deaf ears, either not hearing or ignoring her as he continues his path, dragging the magical chains, noisily, back and forth across his cell’s floor.

This time around, lessons learned, Crowley takes special precautions to ensure that his captives find escaping, impossible.

The Marid, each bound with magical bracelets, share a cell with an individual guard standing watch over each of them.

Sam and the remainder of their team, huddle together under their own guard.

Dean, Torc firmly around his neck and shackles wrapped around his wrists and ankles, has his own cell.

He looks through the bars, across to Sam’s cell. Locking eyes with his brother, nods, and when Sam flicks his head up in understanding, begins to yell. “Hey dicks! Yo fucks! Mother-fu-“

“Well, well, if it isn’t the hybrid screeching again.” Virgil says, suddenly appearing outside Dean’s cell. He looks the astronaut up and down, eyes dark with hunger and licks his lips lasciviously. “Where would you like me to scratch you this time?” he asks leaning perilously close.

Dean recoils, instinctively stepping back and out of the Ghul’s reach; confronted once again by Virgil’s lechery, instantly coats the astronaut in a fine sheen of sweat. “Seriously? They let you back in charge?”

Virgil, with his back facing the other prisoners, palms his growing erection suggestively at Dean. “Actually, my Master decided to place another Ghul in my stead, but, well…I remedied that.” And adds low and menacingly so that only Dean can hear, “You owe me a sample, hybrid, a little taste, remember?”

 _Fuck,_ Dean thinks, when the Ghul blinks himself into the cell, cursing out-loud when a second blink flings him against the far wall.

The Ghul rushes towards Dean, brazenly pressing his body against the astronaut’s and cups his dick.

“Gonna have to take me out to dinner first if you want to get to first base.” Dean sneers, desperately shutting out flashbacks of being tortured during his months of captivity. He swallows thickly, throat bone dry, and says, “Come on then, give it your best shot. I’ve had worse than you.” he says truthfully, words uttered on a low snarl promising danger.

“Dean!” Sam yells across from him. “Get off of him!” he warns tearing at his hair.

Virgil snorts and looks over his shoulder. “Or what, human?” he slurs as if drunk, lovingly stroking Dean all the while.

Sam and the rest of the group, look on in horror. The other Ghul merely glance in Virgil’s direction with bored amusement.

“Dean, the bracelets!” Balthazar shouts hoping Dean remembers their significance.

Dean, frozen in place by the evil djinni, instantly catches onto Balthazar’s meaning.

Unfortunately so does Virgil.

"Ah, ah, ah" the Ghul tuts. "Not this time. Oh, no my sweet." he whispers leaning in closer to Dean's tightly sealed lips, rancid breath making the astronaut wretch and gag. "This time I'm only having a taste. There won’t be any need to touch your binds." He hums, moving in closer and magically willing Dean’s legs to spread wider; his long gray tongue poking out to moisten dry scaly lips, while his hand tugs and squeezes impatiently at Dean's crotch. "Just a small taste, barely a-"

For Virgil, however, there will never be a taste. Or anything ever again, for that matter.

A blinding flash of pale blue light is the only warning they all get before the Ghul begin to shout. The screams are loud, deafening, chilling in their agony, and end as abruptly as they began.

Dean dares to crack his eyes open after he 'sees' the light fade from behind his closed lids. Instead of facing a very pissed off Ghul between the fan of his lashes, it's a very pissed off Castiel; the djinni's beautiful face contorted in righteous fury.

"Hello, Dean." he growls in greeting, deep frown and pursed lips firmly in place, withering glare for the dead Ghul at his feet.

"Nice timing there, Cas." Dean cracks a one sided grin, unconsciously licking his lips, eyes widening and his jeans tightening at how impossibly sexy and completely fuckable Castiel looks post ass kicking.

_BAMFD!_

Castiel fixes Dean with a narrow eyed glare. " _One,_ you are never to be out of my sight ever again.” The djinni hisses. “No one, and I mean _no one_ , will ever touch or harm you ever again, capiche?"

"Damn, Cas, 'course not. I mean that Virgil-"

" _Two_ ," he snarls. "I'm taking you away from here. And if anyone dares to take you back, they will have to go through me." he warns low and dangerous, snapping his fingers to place Dean by his side. "Ready?' He asks, and snapping his fingers a second time, transports them all back to Coco Beach.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations from Arabic  
> Mustafa - The chosen one  
> Aali - High lofty, sublime  
> Shahnaz- Pride of the king  
> Malak -Angel  
> Crowley Al-Fathi Hashim - Crowley The Conqueror or Breaker  
> Jamil - Beautiful  
> Malik- King  
> Jamil El-Malak Castiel- Beautiful Angel Castiel--sorry, I had to!  
> Malika- Queen  
> Shahnaz Al-Sayyida Meghan - pride of the king, lady Meghan- yeah, pfft!


	18. A Moment to Worship

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He opens his mouth, words of love, praise and devotion on the tip of his tongue. “Gah.” To his great dismay, is the only sound his blissed out mind is able to produce.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay, our boys are back together again! Time for a bit of porn!

"Meghan, darling, light of my life, did you ever stop to consider from where that human got his powers? Hm?" Crowley asks, pausing for an answer even though he has no intention of giving his impetuous daughter a chance to defend herself. "From Castiel, of course, you stupid little fool!" he shouts, not bothering to control the rising anger barreling through him because of her carelessness. "Does the term ‘limitless fount of power' ring any bells?" he roars. "And you let him get away!"

Meg opens her mouth, sharp retort at the ready, eyes boggling from the gag that's suddenly stuffed in her mouth. She claws and tears at the knot, realizes it's her wedding veil, but only starts to panic when it refuses to budge.

“Now, now, sweetheart, do take a moment before answering, you don’t want to dig yourself any deeper.” He warns and turns to take Castiel’s vacated seat. “Dear Hajji, help me.” He says tiredly and looking back at his daughter’s simmering form, observes, “No wonder our numbers are dwindling.”

"Mmreeemmmph!!” she screeches and charges at her father, stopping short when she’s yanked backwards by an invisible force and falls with a loud thump, onto a nearby seat.

"What was that, love?" He asks, cupping his ear with his hand. “Hmph.” He snorts and blinks, binding her magic with a pair of golden restraints around her wrists and ankles, anchoring her securely to the chair.

He studies Castiel’s abandoned Torc, turning it over in his hands admiring the intricately carved runes and binding sigils etched into its golden surface. “Much good you did." he grouses, blinking the brace around Meg's neck instead. "It's actually quite beautiful." he remarks absently.

"Now Meggy, you do understand why daddy's doing this? No? Well, really darling I can’t have you running around half-cocked tearing the place apart looking for that hybrid, now can I? It's bad enough I let you hold onto Castiel's bottle, though that also proved to be more than useless, am I right? So glad you agree with me." he replies mockingly; infinitely relieved he never gave into her demands that he relinquish ownership of her bottle as well.

He gets up to stand over her chair and bending low, whispers in her ear. "Now Meg, this is how it’s going to go. I am going to remove the gag. You will tell me where you have hidden Castiel's bottle. And then, I am going to blink you into your bottle until I call for you." he pulls back to look her in the eye and adds, "And mind you’re good and ready for whomever I bring to be your adoring husband. Have I made myself clear?"

She nods stiffly and lowers her head in defeat, but when Crowley blinks the gag away, she pulls back and spits in his face.

"I’ll never tell you! The _bottle_ is mine! _Jamil_ is mine! _Mustafa_ is mine" she cackles wildly.

"Totally off yer rocker.” He tsks sadly. “Guess I only have myself to blame." he adds using the back of his hand to wipe away the spittle trailing down his face.

"Have it your way then." he says and with a blink, her bottle appears in his hand. "Nighty-night, darling." He blinks again, and using his magic and control over her bottle, forces the black twisted mass of Meg's writhing essence, into its prison.

…

“Um, guys?” Sam calls again, trying for the umpteenth time to get Dean to let go of Castiel long enough for the djinni to explain how he managed to get them all out of Zachariah’s stronghold.

Dean grunts out an expletive in response to Sam’s nagging, adding his middle finger for emphasis.

To say he’s overjoyed to have _his_ djinni, Castiel, back in his arms, in their home, safe, and his to adore freely, is as far as he’s concerned, putting it mildly.

“Master-“ Castiel sighs, leaning happily against Dean’s insistent lips. “Later.” he whispers into Dean’s skin, pulling back slowly to lock eyes for a beat before turning his attention to Sam.

Dean catches his face by the chin and swivels it back. “Let’s make this quick.” He tells him, the words stressed with underlying urgency.

“Damn, bro!” Gabriel comments from the side, fanning himself with his hand. “Is it getting steamy in here, or is it just moi?”

“Truly, Gabe, those two absolutely set my tender bits all a quiver.” Balthazar quips joining in the teasing.

“Can it you two!” Sam snaps, still reeling from their narrow escape. He pulls his seat closer to where Castiel and Dean are sitting, elbows resting on his knees, and asks, “Cas, how the hell did you get us out?”

Castiel, fingers laced with Dean’s, body slumped and pressed pleasantly against his Master’s warmth, clears his throat before answering. “Sam, I _willed_ us all out.”

“D’uh!” Gabriel snorts.

“Gabe, hush.” Sam says without turning. Still looking at Castiel, he continues. “Yeah, figured that much. But, I mean, when you and Dean joined us in the ballroom, all your powers combined weren’t enough to zap us out. And then, just like that, poof, you do it all on your own?”

Dean, still thoroughly distracted by the djinni at his side, perks up at Sam’s tone. “What are you getting at, Sam?”

“Just…” Sam starts, worry lines prominent on his young forehead, looking around the room at his fellow escapees. “Just seems like it was too easy. Like, maybe, they let us go.” He finally suggests.

“That’s nuts, right Cas?” Dean asks but just as curious for an answer.

Castiel, sensing Dean’s trepidation, squeezes his hand gently, hoping to assuage his Master’s concern with touch as well as with the following explanation. “Your questions and conclusions are warranted, Sam. However, I assure you that they didn’t let us escape. And, it was far from easy.”

They all take a moment to absorb what Castiel has just told them.

Dean releases his fingers to wrap an arm around the djinni’s waist, pulling him closer to his side. “Cas, did…did the power you use, drain you?” He asks, dreading the answer. He feels useless and like a failure for not being powerful enough to take down the Ghul and get his friends out of Oman like he had promised. “Baby?” he prods.

The djinni regards Dean for a moment, large blue eyes full of warmth, stalling for a moment to find the right words. “No Dean, I’m far from drained.” He reassures and turns to look at their friends to explain the events that led up to their escape.

“When Crowley and Zachariah discovered us in the ballroom, they immediately sent me back to my chamber, outfitted with a Torc and power dampening manacles. Well,” he starts and has to stop, laughing softly into Dean’s shoulder. “They were so confident in their prowess, that they set only one djinni to guard me. Samandriel.”

“Alfie?” Dean says excitedly, smiling widely with the knowledge that the young djinni’s allegiance to them has, as of yet, been undiscovered.

Castiel beams at his Master. “Yes. The Shaitan and my Uncle foolishly believed Alfie to be _their_ agent.”

“Okay, that’s all very well and good, but how does that explain how all of a sudden you have enough mojo to counter Crowley and Zachariah’s power? Not to mention the fact that you were good and bound.” Jo speaks up, pointing out what everybody else is thinking.

Castiel looks to where Jo sits and smiles at her closeness to Benny, her posture easy and relaxed, leaning heavily against the rugged astronaut’s side. “You bring up a very good point, Joanna-Beth. I was able to escape because my bottle was returned to me.”

“That son-of-a-bitch, you go Alfie!” Dean fist-pumps the air and tugs the djinni in for a hard press of lips. “Told-ya I have friends in high places.”

Castiel gladly lets Dean manhandle him for a few precious seconds before turning back to their audience. “Yes, and another blunder the Shaitan made, Meg this time, was to value Samandriel’s importance so little that it didn’t matter to her if he saw where she kept my bottle.”

Dean digs his fingers into Castiel’s side at the mention of his bottle. “Cas, where’s your bottle, now?” he asks, so nervous and anxious he’s afraid he won’t hear the answer, over the heavy thumping of his heart.

“It’s where it’s meant to be, here, with you.” The djinni replies stating his answer as if it were obvious.

Dean exhales in relief, but the djinni doesn’t outwardly react, either oblivious or ignorant of his Master’s momentary panic and fear that he might not have forgiven him.

Dean tears his eyes away from Castiel’s beautiful face to look at his friends, his grip around the djinni’s waist tightening. “Um, that’s a wrap for today, okay. So, ah…vamoose.” He announces and actually shoos them with a wave of his hands.

“Oh for the love of Hermione, Dean!” Charlie huffs. “Dude, try to keep it in your pants for like two more minutes.” She looks around and sees everyone nodding in agreement. “I, for one, would like to know just what the heck we intend to tell the General.”

A chorus of yeses greets her question.

“More importantly, I want to know what we intend to do about Crowley and Zachariah.” Gabriel counters, bringing the focus back to their immediate threat.

Sam nods his head. “Gabe’s right, Dean.” He agrees running a shaking hand through the long strands of his hair. “How much time do we have until they come looking for us?” He directs his question to Castiel.

The djinni straightens in his seat, removing himself, minutely, from his Master’s embrace in order to gain some clarity. “I suspect they’re already actively searching for us. But, Zachariah and Crowley are no longer hunting together.”

“Ah, care to elaborate a little bit there for us, Cas.” Dean says. “If it isn’t Heckle and Jeckle that are aiming for our asses, then who the hell is?” he asks with a quirk of his brow.

Castiel tilts his head and squints in confusion, at a loss, again, on how to answer another one of his Master’s questions when they’re continuously laced with references he doesn’t understand.

“Oh, of course, my apologies.” He says realizing belatedly the reason for their confusion. “The ones we will need to guard against are not Crowley and Zachariah, but Crowley and _Meghan_. I’m afraid as far as the Shaitan is concerned, uncle Zachariah has exhausted his usefulness, and because of that reason, has been…removed, to put it kindly.”

“Removed?” Both Gabriel and Balthazar ask.

“Imprisoned, in his own bottle.”

“Outrage!” Balthazar shouts.

“Devils!” Gabriel yells as well.

They turn to face each other, mouths slamming shut for a moment before breaking into matching grins that open and spill forth with uncontrollable laughter. They rush towards each other and hug, celebrating Castiel’s good news, enthusiastically slapping each other’s backs with tears streaming down their faces.

“Oh my…” Balthazar wheezes, trying to catch his breath. “He really did have it coming, though.”

“Right you are bro!” Gabriel agrees and hops up to slap his brother’s upraised hand. “And good riddance to bad fucking rubbish, I say. That dick always gave me the creeps!” He confesses, silently rejoicing in the knowledge that Zachariah, the one being mainly responsible for Michaels’ estrangement and Lucifer’s banishment, not to mention Jeannie and Castiel’s imprisonment, has finally gotten his comeuppance.

“Be that as it may,” Castiel interrupts. “The terrible fact of the matter is that there are now two very powerful and very dangerous Shaitan holding reign over our kingdom, brothers. There is nothing and no one stopping them from expelling the few remaining Marid from our homeland.”

“Fuck, Cassie, way to bring the mood down.” Gabriel gripes and trades Balthazar’s embrace for Sam’s.

Next to him, Castiel can feel his Master’s mood shift the moment he delivered the dire tidings, Dean’s previously relaxed body stiffening and tensing.

“This mean what I think it means?” Dean asks in a low steely tone, eyes not meeting the djinni’s.

“I’m afraid so, Dean.” Castiel replies, grabbing his hand tighter. “We need to go back and end this.”

Dean exhales a weary breath, head sinking low on his shoulders. “Fine.” He acknowledges grimly. “Can’t catch a fucking break.” He says mostly to himself.

“Okay,” Sam speaks up. “Let’s start coming up with a plan. Ah, Charlie, Benny, Jo, put your heads together and write a credible report for NASA, while Dean, Cas, Gabe and I-“

“While _you_ and my _brothers_ , Sam,” Castiel corrects. “Work on how to infiltrate Crowley’s stronghold and topple his regime.”

Sam pauses, unsure how to process what Castiel just said. “Wait…what?”

“Dean and I have to excuse ourselves for a few hours, Sam. I trust that you and my brothers will be able to carry on without our assistance until our return.” Castiel replies, words stilted and without inflection, but still totally getting his point across.

“Oh for Hajji’s sake! Seriously?” Gabriel huffs out loud.

Castiel readies to argue, but is cut off by the last person he expected to speak on his and Dean’s behalf and their need for a moment (okay, more like a few hours) of privacy, Balthazar.

“Now, now, Gabe, take pity.” The blonde djinni interjects. “The poor fools haven’t been intimate in at least forty-eight hours. Why, Dean’s ball sac must be positively ready to burst.”

“Ewww!”

“Gross!”

Charlie and Jo yelp.

Next to Jo, Benny chuckles heartily. “Brotha you sure do paint a colorful, although disgusting, picture. No offense, there Dean.” He apologizes to his friend.

“Hate to say it, but Gabe’s got a point. I mean-“

“As I stated before, Sam,” Castiel says tersely, voice emitting a low throaty growl as his patience for their impromptu meeting dwindles. “I trust you and my brothers are fully capable of formulating a plan for our return to Oman. In the meantime,” he turns to look at Dean, hand painfully tight in his. “Dean and I will be unavailable for the next few hours.”

“Look,” Sam starts and stops. “Yeah, guess we’ll see you when we see you.” he says to the two _now_ empty spots in front of him.

…

“Cas…wait.” Dean protests sitting up against their bed’s headboard. “We really should…um…wait…what was I saying?” he stutters, quickly losing his train of thought from the the erotic image of Castiel leaning against their bedroom door, hand between his thighs, slowly stroking himself.

It’s quite possibly the dirtiest and hottest thing Dean’s ever seen in his life, and as a result, his own dick immediately starts to fill and press painfully against his zipper.

The djinni hums in response and nods, jeans unzipped and shirt removed, eyes dark and hungry, bottom lip caught between his teeth, thick head of his cock slipping in and out between the loose grip of his fist. “Dean…” he sighs, the rhythm of his movements, hypnotic, his wrist expertly twisting and tugging, thumb rubbing and smearing the pale liquid blossoming on the tip.

“O_o”

“Master…” Castiel purrs and peeling himself off the door, takes slow sure steps that mimic the slow languid strokes to his slicked dick.

“Suck.” He orders bracing one knee on the bed and grabbing the back of Dean’s head to guide his Master’s parted lips towards the plumb head.

Dean gobbles him down, unable to react any other way to the djinni’s command; mind whiting out and body thrumming with renewed power the second the bittersweet taste of Castiel’s pre-cum hits his tongue. _Fuck!_ He thinks, slurping and sucking, arms moving of their own accord to grab handfuls of the djinni’s ass-cheeks in order to still and set the pace for his thrusting cock.

“Fuck…” the djinni whimpers, eyes screwed shut, voicing Dean’s mental curse. He tilts his head down, dark lashes fluttering; watching in awe as his dick slides in and out between Dean’s obscenely stretched lips. “Dean-“ he says in a low sexy rumble, watching in fascination as drool gathers and spills from his Master’s chin, thick drops hitting the bedspread.

Dean looks up, eyes locking with Castiel’s, thrilling at the sight of his djinni coming apart because of _him_. He ups the ante and removes one hand from the firm muscle of Castiel’s ass to wrap around the base of his cock, and squeezes.

“Argh!” Castiel grunts, back arching and cock ramming, fully, down Dean’s throat.

Dean sputters and gags, eyes watering, breathing heavily through his nose. “Mmmph…” he replies and quickens his strokes, squirming when he feels warm liquid dotting his underwear. He takes his other hand from Castiel’s ass to lower his own zipper, exposing his tented boxers to the warm air and electrical current surrounding them. He snakes a hand inside to ease his dick out, running his thumb over the pooling wetness at the crown, and smearing it along his length.

“No, Master.” Castiel gasps and staggers back, cock slipping wetly from Dean’s mouth. “Open your legs.”

Dean almost -okay he does- whine when Castiel pulls out, but quickly rebounds when he realizes what the djinni intends to do next.

Still fully dressed, fly open, Dean scampers further up the bed, falling back against the pillows and spreads his legs, his cock hot and thick in his grip.

Castiel bends at the waist to plant a soft kiss on Dean’s swollen lips. “Beloved.” He whispers against his cheek, grinning smugly when Dean gasps, shocked that they’re both suddenly nude. “Better, no?” he asks and smirks.

Dean rolls his eyes. “Yeah, yeah, you’re real fucking clever. But, ah, by the way, I, um, wasn’t done with your...cock, okay.” He says shyly, the admission turning his cheeks pink. “Wanna finish sucking you off, baby.” He all but pouts, reaching out with his arms and making grabby gestures with his hands, beckoning the djinni back to him, swearing he can see actual sparks fly out of Castiel’s darkened eyes because of his request.

It’s true that he’s dying to have the djinni inside him, splitting him apart, pounding into him with enough force to leave him limping for at least a week. But he can’t help missing the weight and heat, the taste and fullness of having Castiel’s delicious cock in his mouth. And what he mostly wants _right the fuck now_ is to swallow all of his djinni’s goodness, opting for the good hard fuck, he’s sure to get, for the next round.

So he reaches out, grabs Castiel by the hips and hauls him onto the bed, carefully positioning him until the djinni‘s kneeling over his open mouth, and whispers, “Please…”

“Your wish is my command…” Castiel exhales on a long ragged breath, and with his knees braced on either side of Dean’s head, slips his cock back into his Master’s waiting mouth.

Dean hums happily and sucks greedily, pulling on Castiel’s cock with his tongue until he’s chocking on it. He inhales deeply until the djinni’s dick hits the back of his throat and exhales in a rush of air without gagging, relaxing his muscles and calming his thundering heart.

“Dean…mmph…” Castiel pants. “I need…” he tries.

“Mph...” Dean answers.

Castiel’s replies are a series of mewls and incoherent sounds, whines and whimpers, hands braced against the wall to control his pace while he slowly fucks Dean’s mouth,

“Mphwat, mmby?” Dean asks again, eager to know what else he can do to bring his lover to the brink of ecstasy.

“Y-you…want to…fuck. In…you, Mast-ter.” He finally manages.

“Ummph!” Dean whimpers around a mouthful of rock hard dick, keening loudly when slicked fingers probe and prod at his entrance. “Gmphuck!” He swears, loving how nimble and flexible his djinni must be to contort and reach between his open legs with such ease. He pushes down against the digits, his own dick bouncing and slapping wetly along with the jerk of his hips, and bears down, urging Castiel to breach and take.

“Sssgdd, mmby.” He mumbles. “Arhgh!” he cries out when two fingers penetrate and begin to scissor him open. “F-huck, ha-how?” He stammers wondering in the back of his mind how the djinni, with his hands pressed flat against the wall above him and knees bracketing his head is also able to dig fingers into his hole.

“Turn over.” A gruff and impossibly deep voice says from the foot of the bed.

“Dean…” Castiel pants from above him, knees still on either side of Dean’s head, and leans back to let his dick slip out.

Dean lifts his head, eyes, half-mast, brow crinkled in confusion. “What the hell, Cas?” he slurs then gapes when he’s met with two sets of bright blue eyes.

 _Two Castiels? Fucking jackpot! Thank you God!!_ He thinks joyously, counting himself, again, the luckiest man alive.

The identical pair of Castiels, one by his feet and one to his right, gaze lustfully into his eyes, gently tugging at their own erections, full lips exhaling soft puffs of heated air, legs parted, thumbs brushing against their cock-heads, each movement a perfect mirror to the other, surely the stuff of wet dreams.

"@_@"

The twins release their cocks and shift minutely towards each other, leaning over to close the few inches that separate them. They trade a passionate open mouth kiss and reach for each other's dicks, slowly stroking and caressing the other’s hardened flesh, eliciting soft moans of pleasure as they fondle each other.

The angle is awkward but their movements are so graceful that Dean quickly reaches for his own dick, gripping it tightly at the base, to stop himself from cumming on the spot.

Dean's stunned mute by the pair of Adonis before him. The hand on his dick loosens and begins to stroke. The movements are slow at first, completely unconscious, sliding and rubbing in tune with the men in front of him."Mmphtt!" he groans, bottom lip trapped painfully between his teeth, hand stroking at a faster pace as his arousal heightens.

The sound of skin slapping against skin break the djinn apart, laser like focus turning back on their Master. They both reach towards Dean and stop him with a touch, stilling him with a look and drawing him back under their control.

“I’m going to fuck you now, Master.” The second Castiel announces, retaking his position at the foot of the bed, eyes boring into Dean when his Master whimpers. He’s nestled snugly between Dean’s legs and plants his hand firmly between his thighs, quickly inserting three fingers to further loosen the tight muscle.

Dean’s head slams back, eyes sealed shut, lips pursed from the pressure.

“Turn over.” The first djinni whispers into his ear and takes Dean by the shoulders to maneuver him until he falls, in a limbless heap, onto his stomach.

Satisfied with his Master’s new position, he crawls on hands and knees to settle with his back against the headboard. Once seated, he takes Dean’s head tenderly between his hands and rests it on his lap, letting his legs fall open so that Dean has to wrap his arms around his waist to keep his head upright.

“Open.” Castiel instructs and bends impossibly low to part his Master’s lips with his tongue. He kisses him once, twice, hot wet swipes of teeth and tongue, pulling away and trading the wet heat of his mouth with the solid heated flesh of his cock, gently coaxing Dean’s head down and around him. “Suck, me.” he sighs low and throaty, head falling back, lips parting when Dean does as he’s told.

Dean licks and sucks, giving the thick head open mouth kisses, reveling in the scent, taste and feel of Castiel’s sex.

“Umph!’ Dean moans loudly when the second Castiel, standing behind him, resumes his ministrations.

He grips Dean by the hips and forces his ass into the air, three fingers pulsing steadily in and out, probing and twisting, stalling momentarily from the sudden jerk of Dean’s hips when they brush against his prostate.

Dean’s drowning in stimulation, every sense overwhelmed from head to toe. He can barely breathe, but relishes the lightheadedness. His insides, stroked and caressed, pushed and stretched, make his balls tighten and his cock leak freely between his bent knees.

 _This can’t get any better!_ He swears. But is quickly proven wrong when the djinni behind him, deftly replaces his fingers with the blunt head of his cock, teasing the entrance briefly, thick head slip sliding along the curve if his ass, before finally sliding in with one smooth motion.

All three men groan in unison as if experiencing the same overwhelming level of stimulation.

Dean’s breath catches in his throat when Castiel rams into him, pounding sharp synchronized grunts of pleasure from his Master with the snap of his hips.

In front of him, Castiel’s mirror image sits with his back against the headboard, body slamming in synch with his twin’s rhythm. Dean’s head bobs on and off the djinni’s cock, his lap covered in saliva, dripping and pooling in a wet sloppy mess from his Master’s working mouth.

Dean, knees bent, removes his hold from Castiel's waist to brace himself on his elbows, free hand reaching to wrap fingers around the djinni’s dick, tongue pocking out to lick the long length of the underside.

This goes on for minutes or hours, Dean's too blissfully lost in his lust filled haze to care. Time is irreverent, meaningless, _everything_.

With a sure hand he grasps, twists, strokes, rubs, flicks, slides back down, and repeats. His rhythm, slow and steady at first, pumps the djinni’s dick easily from their combined slickness. But his pace quickens when he feels the velvet smooth skin of Castiel's balls tighten and contract as he suckles them; strokes speeding up, mouth tightening its hold around the engorged head, ready for the djinni's release.

“Master…fuck!” the djinni grunts and spills, back still banging against the headboard.

Hot cum fills Dean’s mouth and his body surges with power. He swallows and gulps, ensuring not a drop of the precious semen spills or is lost. He drinks until Castiel’s dick softens and slips out, affectionately nuzzling it against his cheek before turning to lay a sweet kiss against the spent head. “Love you.” he whispers heatedly over the sensitive flesh, sending shivers up Castiel’s spine.

The djinni pants, throat catching on shallow breaths, limbs vibrating with pleasure, working unsteady fingers through his Master’s hair. He trails them down Dean’s neck, and works blunt nails onto his back, watching in lust-addled fascination as the muscles shift and flex under his touch. “Turn over.” He says again, voice a dry gravely rasp from the moans and gasps his Master’s talented mouth wrenched from him.

He’s barely audible over the loud grunts and filthy sounds of dick slapping wetly against ass that are coming in a steady rhythm, from the end of the bed. He therefore grabs his Master firmly by the shoulders, and coaxes him into a new position.

Dean’s all feeling and taste now, which means all higher thinking is beyond him. So, when Castiel tells him to move, he only does so when strong hands make him. He lets himself be turned, whimpering in displeasure when he finds himself suddenly empty.

Both Castiels maneuver around him, spreading him until he’s flat on his back, hips lifted and legs gently placed around slim hips, both djinn bending low to kiss and taste his lips.

“Oh…my fuck-king…g-god!” Dean groans, the words echoing wantonly in their mouths. They lick and suck, nip and bite, tongues curling around each other’s, their tastes mingling, bodies contorting and blending until it’s impossible to say where one starts and the other ends.

Dean feels like he’s dying, a thousand tiny deaths of ecstasy and pure pleasure, completely encompassing and consuming him from the inside out.

And he’s _more_ than okay with that.

After a too brief moment the djinn pull away; loud lip smacking noises traded for moans of delight when the second Castiel straightens slightly, and lining up his cock, easily slides back into his lover’s still slicked opening, hitching Dean’s hips higher for better access and deeper penetration.

The other djinni, tongue darting over full lips, braces himself on hands and knees, ass to the headboard, and hovering an inch over Dean’s rigid dick, parts his lips and closes the distance to swallow him down.

From the foot of the bed, Castiel curls his fingers around Dean’s hips and jerks forward until he’s flush and fully seated. He begins to thrust, setting a slow and tortuous pace that has both men writhing on the heady feeling of their combined heat. His movements are smooth and controlled, hips moving in delicious figure-eights, hands gripping tighter to keep his Master in place.

“Fu-uk!” Dean blows out both from the huge cock slamming into his ass and from his own dick hitting the back of the first djinni’s throat. “Mpmfft!” he grunts when thrusting hips slam forward and to the side, teasing his prostate.

Castiel, on all fours, brackets Dean in the cage of his arms and legs, sucking and slurping with vigor, head bobbing and cheeks hollowing out as he devours his Master’s cock. He takes a hand to Dean’s dick, grabbing at the base and begins to stroke, deft twists of his wrist wringing mewls and whimpers from his lover.

Dean wants to scream and shout about how _fucking phenomenal_ he feels. How _fucking great_ it is to have a threesome with the only being, he will ever want to touch or ever be with again. But in his current state, only manages to produce a series of squeaks and whines, panting and gasping for air from the impact of the djinni fucking into him.

Castiel pounds faster and grinds down harder, while the other djinni sucks relentlessly with no indication of easing up, clearly urging and pushing Dean with his mouth as well as with his hand to empty and fill him with his hot powerful fluid.

“Umphhh…C-Casss…” Dean grunts with effort. “Gonna cum…baby!” he warns.

The djinni responds by deepening the suction, his strokes increasing in speed thanks to the free flowing saliva dripping liberally from his mouth.

In no time, the wet heat of Castiel’s lips wrapped tightly around Dean’s throbbing dick, combined with the ass reaming and prostate stimulation from the djinni’s twin, brings Dean to the edge, his hole clenching and flexing around Castiel’s cock.

“Oomph…f-fuck…!” he chokes out on a breathless scream and cums, body convulsing from waves and waves of pleasure pulsing through him, thick pearly ropes of semen shooting out and landing on Castiel’s outstretched tongue.

The djinni moans a long musical note of satisfaction when he swallows the first mouthful, then lowers his head to seal his lips around the pulsing crown, determined not to miss a single drop.

It only takes the other Castiel two more hard thrusts into Dean’s ass for him to peak. The djinni wails. “Deeeen!” His dick spasms and spills, the tight clench of his Master’s hole coupled with the contractions from Dean’s climax, push the djinni over the edge.

Dean’s whole body shudders and shakes the instant Castiel’s semen hits his inner walls; limbs momentarily locking up, then easing, as his muscles and nerve endings adapt and absorb the immense power the djinni has pumped into him.

With a loud exhausted grunt, the djinni fucking Dean collapses on top of him, immediately reaching out with trembling hands to caress Dean’s sides.

Dean’s body thrums and overflows with power but loves and appreciates the heat and weight of his lover covering his still shivering form. He looks up, eyes barely able to focus, and sees the other Castiel looking down on him, beaming brilliantly. The djinni remains in that position, hovering over his Master for only a moment longer, arms visibly shaking from the effort, before slumping back onto his haunches to reach out and run tender fingers through the sweaty strands of Dean’s hair.

Dean is literally speechless. Seriously, what could he say? _That this was the single most erotic,_ _pornographic, sexy, dirty, mind-blowing experience of his sexual life?_ He’s certain, however, that from their enthusiastic acrobatics, the Castiel twins enjoyed their romp as much as he did.

He looks to one, slumped on his chest, splayed torso rising and falling in time with his own breathing, then to the other, sitting behind him and gracing him with a beatific smile. The sight, making his heart sing and swell.

 _God! I’m officially a girl!_ Dean grins happily, totally at ease with that.

He opens his mouth, words of love, praise and devotion on the tip of his tongue. “Gah.” To his great dismay, is the only sound his blissed out mind is able to produce.

“Indeed, Master.” Both djinn agree, plush pink lips curled in matching grins.

All three men slowly untangle and maneuver to the head of the bed, Dean in the middle, small smile now large and wide.

The djinni to his right nuzzles at his neck, peppering the delicate skin with tiny kisses. He lies on his side, facing Dean, and with his arm slung over his Master’s waist, rests his hand on the sharp cut of his hip. “Mine.” He whispers softly into Dean’s cheek and taking a single finger, uses it to trace intricate patterns around the jutting bone.

Dean purrs and hums, shifting slightly to press into the touch, turning his head to lay a soft kiss against the djinni’s temple.

“Remember me?” the Castiel on his left asks in a playful tone. He takes Dean’s face by the chin and guides it towards his lips, placing a delicate tap to the swollen surface. “Mine.” He sighs reiterating his claim.

Dean closes his eyes and puckers his lips, silently asking for more.

He wraps one arm around the djinni pressed against his right side, hand running the length of Castiel’s muscular back, tracing the defined bumps of each vertebra, in harmony with the djinni’s attention to his hip.

The djinni on his left kisses him again, slowly but deeply, hand leaving Dean’s chin to work its way down his neck, to his sternum, pausing to tweak a nipple, and continuing until it lands on the opposite hip to the one his twin is still working.

The djinn take turns kissing their Master, hands wandering to caress and pinch, overlapping to knead and grab, massaging and skating fingernails to lull Dean to sleep, worshipping him, stopping long after their bedroom is full of the soft sounds of their Master’s snores. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jamil means beautiful in Arabic, cuz let's face it, Cas is oh sooo purty!  
> Mustafa means The One, cuz isn't that always Dean's fate?
> 
> Thanks for the feedback thus far. I love getting comments and knowing what you think of my little story!


	19. Out of the Frying Pan, and into the Battle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley straightens and clutches at his stomach. “Must be the fish I had for lunch.” He mumbles and farts, arrogant façade slipping several notches. “It’s ah…this has never happened to me before...” He looks up sharply, lust filled gaze turned glare. “You!” he hisses. “You’re doing this!”

Sam nervously paces the long length of his large living room, going over the finer points of the report Charlie, Jo, and Benny prepared for NASA. He picks and dissects it, knowing just where to tweak and refine it so that it’s convincing and sufficiently satisfactory enough to meet the General’s expectations.

He’s just passing the room’s second loveseat when Dean and Castiel blink into existence.

“The hell, Sammy? Why’d you move the party here?” Dean asks, large grin on his handsome face, already knowing the answer.

“Dude, you’re such a degenerate. What are you, twelve? I thought that part of our life was over.” Sam complains face scrunched up in disgust.

“Aww, Sammy, don’t be such a prude, man.” Dean teases with a dismissive wave of his hand. “My _fiancé_ and I were spending some quality time together, is all. No need for you to get so bent outta shape. I mean, it’s not like we subjected you to, um…any of our more erotic displays.” He ends with a wink and a smirk.

“Dean!” Charlie snaps. “You two were so freaking loud, we had no choice but to eighty-six your living room or suffer the traumatic effects for life. And, I don’t know about the rest of you, but I plan on having a very long and sexually active life, and I don’t need to be permanently scarred by thoughts of what you two might have been getting up to!” she chides, cheeks reddening to match her temper as well as her hair color. “Like, seriously…what the heck were you two doing?” she asks low and confidentially, eyes aglow with curiosity, while Dean and Castiel continue snuggling on the room’s smallest loveseat.

“Ow!” the fiery redhead yelps from a sharp smack to her shoulder.

“Do you mind?” Jo says with a grimace. “It’s bad enough I have to look at that shit-eating-grim plastered on his smug face,” she points to Dean with her thumb. “I don’t need to hear the blow-by-blow, too. I’m gonna be having fricken nightmares, I swear.” she says in a low horror-stricken voice, twining her arm through Benny’s to burrow deeper against his side.

Benny unwinds his arm from Jo’s, stretching it out to wrap around her shoulders instead, pulling her closer and turning his face to press an affectionate kiss against her forehead.

Their actions don’t go unnoticed.

“Ah, you two got something you wanna share?” Gabriel asks crooked grin matching his cocked brow.

The new couple spare each other a quick glance, cheeks flushed pink, then look over to the djinni.

Benny clears his throat before answering. “Yes.” he states plainly, cheeks burning brighter under his beard. “The lovely Ms. Harvelle and I are…dating.” He announces the dry click of his throat loud in the silent room.

Next to him, Jo squeezes his thigh and smiles radiantly at her new boyfriend. “You bet your sweet ass, we are.” She confirms in a bright playful voice. She turns to gauge their friend’s reactions and adds, “Well, dumbasses?”

“About time!”

“What took you so long?”

“Pity, I was just working up the courage to ask if he wanted to rub, my ah…bottle.”

“Finally got that thick head of yours, outta your ass, huh, Jo?”

That last helpful comment, supplied by Dean.

“Okay, I admit I may have taken a tad long to warm up to the idea of dating this hunk, but I had my reasons. And you all know them, so don’t act so shocked.” She says defensively, not caring that her jab against Abaddon and their rivalry for Benny’s affections might come across as childish. “And no, Balthazar, Benny’s not interested in rubbing your bottle, or any other part of you! Geesh! Fucking sexy djinni wanting every hot guy in town.” She grumbles.

The blonde djinni smiles broadly, totally charmed by Jo’s feisty personality. “Apologies, my lady, I meant no disrespect.” He bows, and taking her hand places a soft tap of lips against the pale surface, shocking everyone in the room with his chivalry.

“Nice, bro.”

“Wow, if I weren’t into women, I swear I’d…”

“Unfuckingbelievable!”

The last, another helpful comment, from Dean.

Castiel laughs softly, clutching his Master’s bicep tightly. He turns his head and huffs against Dean’s cheek, “You are adorable.”

_Adorable?_ Damn it, Dean Winchester does not do adorable!

Dean frowns at his djinni, but blushes nonetheless. After all they’ve been through and everything they’ve done, Castiel’s praise and affection still manages to make him squirm with happy feels. “Humph, fucking sexy djinni.” he mumbles, reluctant smile tugging at his lips.

“Guys, come on.” Sam breaks in, startling everyone and drawing their attention back to the reason they’ve gathered. “We need to figure out what the hell we’re doing here.” He reminds them, words wavering slightly at the end with anxiety he’s desperately trying to keep under control.

Dean tilts his head, brow crinkled with worry. “Calm down Sammy, we’ll figure this out. S’not all that bad.” He states, tone too casual for Sam’s liking.

Sam walks over to him, bending at the waist he whispers, “Can I talk to you, privately, for a minute?” He asks Dean, but looks to Castiel for permission.

Dean turns to Castiel, presses his lips against the djinni’s stubbled cheek and whispers an excuse into his skin, lips dragging and tasting Castiel’s jaw before parting.

In the next room, Sam turns on his brother. “Dean, I need you to take this serious.” He stresses. “This is literally life and death. You gotta help me-“

“Whoa, whoa, bro, what’s really eating you? You need some private time with your djinni too?”

Sam rakes his fingers through his hair, grasping and holding his head as he struggles to find the right words that will make his brother understand why this is so important for them.

“Look, I get that you and Cas need to focus on your ‘relationship’. But, you also need to see the bigger picture. NASA, Oman, Crowley, our careers, dad.” He counts off. “And, no, I don’t need alone time with Gabriel. We don’t need to sneak off for some ‘quality time’. We’re good. He knows he’s it for me, just like I know I’m it for him.” he holds his hands up, stopping off Dean’s next argument.

“I don’t mean to belittle whatever steps you and Cas need to take for your relationship to…I don’t know, blossom? Grow? Get stronger? I’m okay with that. Do whatever you need to get your happily-ever-after.” He pauses and studies how the creases on his brother’s brow deepen the longer her talks. “I’m just asking you to prioritize, to work on your relationship when our lives aren’t in danger.” He inhales deeply, holding his breath while he waits for his brother‘s reaction.

Dean sucks on his lips, head lowered to study his feet, hands stuffed in his jean’s pockets. “You’re right.” he says in a low apology.

“Huh?” Sam says, not because he didn’t hear Dean, but because he honestly didn’t expect him to agree so readily.

“I said,” Dean repeats, head raised to look Sam in the eye. “That _you_ are right. Cas and me, we’ve been…we’ll cool it down and work on dad and friggin Crowley. No more slacking.” He promises, ashamed that his little brother had to be the one to call him out on how irresponsible he’s been behaving for the past few weeks.

Sam smiles, eyes practically shining in relief. “Um, cool, then.” he says and reaches out to lay his hand on Dean’s shoulder.

“Yeah, s’cool.” Dean acknowledges, laying his own hand over his brother’s, silently communicating how sorry he truly is.

…

They rejoin the group, Dean settling comfortably next to Castiel, mindful to censor his hands and keep them at a more G-rated level. He does however, lean in for a quick chaste kiss before joining the rest of the group as they continue brainstorming, offering Sam an apologetic shrug for that minor indiscretion.

“Okay, then.” Sam announces, clapping his hands together. “Guess we’ll start by filling you both in on what we’ve come up with so far.”

He stands so that all eyes are on him, but delivers what he says next to Dean and Castiel. “First off, dad, right?” he says noting Dean’s tightly clenched jaw from the mere mention of their father. “Gabe made it so that our last check-in to command looked like it came directly from Kasha, hopefully buying us a few more days. We, ah, briefly mentioned our suspicion that the country might be in the midst of a coup and that we would report with details on whether or not we were successful in acquiring the phinkilium. We also gave them our current diplomatic status. Big lie, that one.” he gestures with a wide spread of his arms. “And our ETA, of course.”

“Whoa, did dad buy any of that?” Dean interrupts.

“Well, we didn’t actually speak to him, just whoever was at the com at the time. I mean, it’ll eventually get to him, but until then, Gabe bought us a little breathing room so we can focus on the Shaitan.” Sam explains.

Dean leans forward on his seat, elbows on his knees, fingers steepled under his chin but thigh still firmly pressed against the djinni’s.

“Sam, as soon as dad hears that report he’ll send a recon team to drag us out. Come on man, they’re probably planning the rescue mission as we speak.” He points out, unimpressed with their progress thus far. “A coup d’état? Seriously? Dad’s gonna bust a nut! Both his sons and his best officers in a potentially dangerous scenario? We’d be lucky if he doesn’t nuke the place.”

“Dean, let me finish.” Sam says through gritted teeth, frustrated with his brother’s overly dramatic reaction and less than constructive criticism considering he wasn’t even present when the team formulated their current plan. “The call was mostly for NASA’s benefit. Afterwards, we spoke personally with Bobby. We filled him in on most of what really happened, just enough to run interference in case dad or NASA decides to do anything too drastic before we get a chance to clean up the rest of this mess.”

Dean looks to his cousin. “I’m assuming you’re the one that talked to Bobby.” She nods and he asks, “So, what did he say?”

“Balls and idjits, mostly. He’s pissed, but also relieved that we got Cas back. Although it just pissed him off even more ‘cause apparently nobody bothered to tell him Cas was missing in the first place.”

“Hmph!” Dean snorts amused and touched by his uncle’s grumpy reaction to Castiel’s abduction. Well, really more like Castiel running away from Dean because of his stupid mouth, but he wasn’t about to enlighten the old man on such a minor technicality. "Good ole Bobby.” With a squeeze to the djinni’s thigh, he gets up and moves to stand next to his bother. “Okay, so let’s say Bobby covers for us for a couple of days, what then?”

Sam unfolds his arms and gestures with his hand to where Gabriel is sitting next to Balthazar. “Gabe?” he prompts.

The djinni offers his Master an all-knowing smirk and stands. “What then, you ask mon Capitan? Well…” he starts, impish gleam in his eye and proceeds to explain their plan on how to get Oman back in the power of the Marid and the Shaitan back to Kasha.

…

During the course of the evening, while they’re busy hashing out the finder points of Gabriel’s plan, Castiel receives a message from Samandriel informing him that Crowley has also imprisoned Meg in her bottle. Balthazar jumps at the information and suggests that they use Crowley’s desperation for ultimate control, as the key to his undoing.

“Okay, but how? Without Meg, his plan for a Marid/Shaitan hybrid is null and void. How else would he get the power he wants?” Sam asks turning to look to where Balthazar is staring. “Oh.” he says, understanding dawning on him when Castiel meets his eyes.

“What? Cas as bait, again? No!” Dean growls.

“Trust me I don’t want to put Cassie in a potentially dangerous position either, but currently he is the most powerful Marid. It’s only logical that he be the lure. And, I must say, he is very alluring.” Balthazar points out batting his eyelashes shamelessly. “And I guarantee that whom so ever Crowley gets to be the lucky incubator for his Shaitan/Marid abomination, she will fall head over heels for our young Castiel’s roguish good looks and undeniable charm.”

Sam’s firm hand on his arm stills Dean before he can argue against Balthazar’s snarky comments.

“Dean, it makes sense. Well, mostly.” He concedes and shoots the blonde djinni a warning glare. “Trust me, Cas will be safe.”

“You bet he will, because he’s not leaving my sight for a single second.” Dean snaps.

He pulls away from Sam’s hold and takes his seat next to Castiel. “What do you think, Cas?” he asks the djinni.

Castiel takes Dean’s hand in his, raises it to his lips and with a quick kiss to the knuckles says, “Balthazar’s idea is sound. And it’s _you_ who will not leave _my_ sight for a second.” he corrects. “Capiche?”

“Capiche.” Dean agrees shyly with a nod.

…

Shortly after deciding to go with a combination of both Gabriel and Balthazar’s ideas, it doesn’t take them too long to formulate a plan that one, quells Dean’s fears and two, satisfies the djinn’s goals.

Knowing Crowley will expect him to return and search for his missing bottle, Castiel will magically transport his team, consisting of Dean, Balthazar and himself, to Meg’s bridle chamber. They chose that course of action after Samandriel assured them that the Shaitan still believed his bottle to be in Meg’s possession.

Their inevitable capture, a vital part to their plan.

They’re going to use Crowley’s fall-out with the Marid as well as with his daughter, who is disturbingly popular with the other clans (specifically the Ghul) as a means to widen the fissure between the Shaitan and the other sects he has under his tentative control, further jeopardizing his claim as supreme leader over Oman.

Meanwhile, Sam and Gabriel, along with Charlie, Jo, and Benny, will follow Gabriel’s course of action and head to Majlis al Jinn where they’re set to rendezvous with the leaders of the other tribes.

There are five sects of djinn clans, each magical but with powers greatly differing in strength.

The tribes that our heroes hope will join in their cause are: The **Jann,** a noble sect regarded as the weakest of the djinn, but still powerful enough for Crowley to consider a threat. And the **Ifrit**. These djinn are famously malicious, rebellious by nature, and generally very difficult to work with. These two clans are also deeply indebted to the Marid, and if not neutral on their stance over the battles waged between the Shaitan and the Marid, then at least loyal to the Marid.

Which explains why Crowley chose to partner closely instead with the Ghul, who’s main fault, for the Shaitan in any case, is that they want as payment for their services, higher ranking amongst the djinn and guaranteed entrance to the astral realm of Kaf when they depart this life.

Plans made, they break off into teams and set off to their assigned tasks.

…

It’s not exactly how they thought their plan would pan out, but it’s pretty damn close.

…

“Crap!” Dean grunts when an especially foul smelling Ghul presses the sharp edge of his scimitar against his throat. “Dude,” He grimaces. “Two words, tic-tac, because, seriously, whew!”

The Ghul ignores Dean, the same way he ignored the now equally subdued Castiel and Balthazar when he, and a large portion of his indentured brothers, captured and arrested the three intruders under Crowley’s orders.

“Can’t really say I’m surprised by your visit, Cas, may I call you Cas?” Crowley sneers, continuing without waiting for a reply. “Especially since you didn’t even have the decency to say goodbye to your bride before you left her, so rudely, at the altar. Why my poor little lamb was absolutely beside herself with grief over your rejection.” He adds with feigned grief.

“Argh!” Dean grimaces. “More like demon-spawn!” He spits out, shuddering at the memory of her slimy saliva trailing disgustingly over his body. “Had to go home and boil my skin to get her stink off me!”

Crowley crows laughter. “Actually, not a bad idea. Thank you, Captain.” He grins and with a blink of his eyes, both Dean and Balthazar find themselves hovering, upside down, ankles bound by glowing chains, over a giant vat of bubbling oil.

“Dean!” Castiel yells, straining against the binds that keep in him place. He’s not truly worried, however, since the magic, which he infused into his beloved, has seamlessly bound itself with Dean’s whole being making him, without a doubt, strong enough to withstand the power of a thousand Shaitan. But he yells nonetheless, be it reflex or instinct, his natural ingrained condition is to keep his Master safe at all costs.

He squints and with a thought, cools the roiling liquid, because even though Dean would undoubtedly survive so mundane a torture, his dear brother, powers dampened to the point where they’re obsolete, would surely perish.

“Never mind them.” Crowley says to Castiel, dismissing the bound men. “Okay now, darling, let’s make a deal, shall we?” He moves so that he’s standing right in the Marid’s line of sight blocking, as far as he believes, the imperiled duo behind him.

The Shaitan stands at his full height, and even though Castiel significantly towers over him, still manages to loom menacingly. “What say you and I cut out all the middle men, eh? Meg, too of course, and get down to business?” he proposes, eyes going completely black as his magic surges from being in such close proximity to the Marid’s palpable power.

Castiel tilts his head up and looks down at the Shaitan through the thick fan of his lashes, plump lips slightly parted. “And what exactly did you have in mind?” he asks, tongue flicking out to dampen his lips enticingly.

From behind the Shaitan, Castiel can hear the distinct sound of his Master’s growls, and smirks. Schooling his features, he says, “Please, let Dean and my brother go. I’ll…I’ll do your bidding. But, you must release them first.” He stipulates voice deadly serious.

“Sorry, love, got big plans for that lot. The hybrid stays. You will cooperate, or…” he lets his threat hover over Castiel for a moment, deciding to let the Marid's fertile imagination fill in the horrors that will befall his dear Master if he denies the Shaitan’s advances.

With Crowley’s predatory gaze boring into him, Castiel quickly changes gears and alters Balthazar’s plan to fit the new parameters set by the Shaitan’s sexual interest.

“So, Cas?” Crowley asks sidling closer to the bound djinni. “What say you and I take this conversation to my bedchamber, hm?” he suggests, running his hand up and down Castiel’s bare arm.

Castiel has to dig deep to still the wave of nausea that rolls through his body from the Shaitan’s touch. Digging his nails into his palms, he feigns nonchalance and replies, “Yes, I don’t want my Master to see.”

Crowley puffs up with eagerness, eyes still black as he slides his hand into Castiel’s and is about to blink them to his room when the Marid speaks up.

“Wait, how do I know that my Master and brother will be safe while we…conduct our business?”

“Pfft.” The Shaitan replies and turns to the large number of Ghul surrounding the hovering prisoners. “There better not be so much as a hair out of place on either of those two when I get back, or their will be hell to pay. Satisfied?” he says turning back to Castiel.

Castiel simply nods; when Crowley was distracted, he used the opportunity to create an elaborate illusion in which Dean and Balthazar, chained over the vat of tepid oil, are now no more than a hologram.

Now, with both men invisible and magically tethered to him, Castiel lets the Shaitan blink them to his suite.

…

Crowley’s room is enormous, much like his ego. He releases his hold on Castiel’s hand and makes his way across the room to his bed. He climbs the three marble steps that border it, and invites Castiel by patting the spot next to him.

Castiel makes his way over, slowly, never taking his eyes off Crowley’s hungry gaze. “This is quite a room.” He remarks casually, distracting the Shaitan in order to give his Master and Balthazar time to search the room for Crowley’s elusive bottle.

“Don’t recognize it?”

“Should I?” Castiel responds, stopping at the bottom step.

Crowley extends his hand, gesturing impatiently for the djinni to hurry with a wave of his fingers. “It was Michael’s. Thought quite highly of himself, that one. Always partial to Lucifer, myself, but that’s neither here nor there, now is it?” he remarks absently.

_‘No fucking way are you letting that prick touch you!’_ Dean hisses from behind Castiel’s left shoulder, still unseen by Crowley.

The djinni stumbles at Dean’s words, his body thrilling when he feels his Master’s warm breath tickle his ear, Dean’s nearness making the small hairs on his body stand on end.

“Everything alright, Jamil?” the Shaitan asks using Meg’s pet name for the djinni, hand still beckoning.

“My apologies, there seems to be a draft.” He answers, quickly recovering and wrapping his arms around his body to cover his lie.

“Well, hurry and come to bed, I’ll warm you right up.” Crowley leers, finally lowering his hand to press it lewdly against the obvious outline of his erection.

“Oomph!” he suddenly grunts, doubling over in pain.

“What’s the matter?” Castiel asks, although he knows from the signs that Crowley’s embarrassing discomfort is the result of Dean’s magic effectively canceling the Shaitan’s blatant desires.

Crowley straightens and clutches at his stomach. “Must be the fish I had for lunch.” He mumbles and farts, arrogant façade slipping several notches. “It’s ah…this has never happened to me before...” He looks up sharply, lust filled gaze turned glare. “You!” he hisses. “You’re doing this!”

Castiel, just out of reach on the second step, falters. “I…don’t be ridiculous.”

With a blink, the Shaitan shackles Castiel to the bed, arms and legs spread out, golden manacles chaining each limb to the four corners. “Umph!” Castiel grunts in surprise when Crowley settles heavily on top of his groin, pressing and grinding against him, large bulge in his pants showcasing how ridiculously turned on the monster is from having the djinni weakened and vulnerable beneath him.

“Pretty, but not too clever.” Crowley sneers. “I was going to do this the…gentle way,” he bends low, face pressed against Castiel’s throat, and sniffs. “But now I see I’ll have to use a bit more force to get what’s mine.” He whispers, breath hot and moist against the faintly perfumed skin, and blinks. “What? How are you doing this?” he blusters when his magic fails to leave Castiel naked.

“It’s not him, you douche, it’s me!” Dean, now visible, shouts. “And get the fuck off of him if you don’t want me to throw you off!” he warns and advances.

“How the bloody hell?” the Shaitan spits. “And how dare you threaten me, boy? G-“

“Shut it!” Dean snaps, pointing a threatening finger directly at the Shaitan’s nose. “Not a word out of you, okay. Don’t wanna make me lose my temper.” He warns, voice low and dangerous. “Trust me, you don’t want to see what’ll happen if I get pissed.” He growls, the implied threat instantly silencing the Shaitan’s call for help.

“Good, much better.” Dean replies when Crowley obediently silences. “I was getting real fucking fed up listening to your crap.” And with a snap of his fingers binds the Shaitan in the identical shackles that were used earlier on him. “Cas?” he turns to Castiel, brow arched. “Well, what do you have to say for yourself?” he asks voice tinged with humor.

The Marid, silent and still until being addressed, looks over to his Master. “Dean, I had everything under control.” He replies calmly, sounding way too confident, in Dean’s opinion, for someone in such a precarious position.

“Yeah I can see that.” Dean smirks. “You know, seeing you like this gives me all sorts if wicked ideas.” He tells him, grinning broadly and wagging his brows suggestively.

Literally, in the blink of an eye, the djinni, now magically unbound, rolls onto his side and leaning on one elbow, purrs, “Me too.” the words vibrating with a throaty rumble.

“Baby, swear your gonna be the death of me.” Dean whimpers, suddenly buckling under the weight of his six-foot tall, handsy djinni.

Castiel laughs, the sound throaty and honest, and Dean falls a little bit more in love from it. “We should probably find Crowley’s bottle before his guards sense his duress.” He advises. “Although, from the sound of it, I’d say they’ve already gathered outside.”

Dean can’t help the small whimper that escapes when Castiel pulls away. “You know, I’m getting pretty sick and tired with all of these interruptions.” He complains yanking the djinni back against his side, one arm winding tightly around his waist, the other raised, palm open, towards the closed door.

“Open.” He commands, and all hell breaks loose.

…

"Your Excellency..." Gabriel starts, nerves held at bay by Sam's reassuring touch on his lower back "The reason we've asked that you to join us here, the most sacred of places for all the djinn, Majlis al Jinn, is to ask for your aid in getting Oman back under the control of the Marid."

Murmurs ripple through the gathered djinn. They look to one another for a long moment before the leader of the Jann, a tall neatly dressed brunette, steps up to address the Marid and the humans surrounding him.

“Jibril, please explain why the Jann, the sect your father deemed most dispensable, should help you?" she asks politely, eyes sparkling with genuine wonder. “Help us understand why the mighty Marid would even deign to deal with us? Why we should go against Crowley and incur his wrath?”

Gabriel knows he's treading on delicate ground, Hajji, under Zachariah's influence no doubt, was less than charitable when it came to his opinions on the Jann and their usefulness, or lack thereof.

"Look, I know pop...disregarded your merits." he starts, hand sweeping across their impressive numbers. "But, he's not the one asking, okay, it's me, your brother. All right, more like distant cousin. Whatever. You guys always got along with me, right?” he turns to look directly at their leader, amber eyes pleading for understanding.

“Naomi, come on, you want reasons? Okay, how about what that dick’s done to your brothers? Inias, Hael,” he pauses taking a deep breath and pulls out the heavy ammunition. “Samandriel.” He knows he’s touched a nerve when actual sparks fly from her eyes at the mention of her favorite lost brother, anger and grief crippling in their intensity whenever she remembers how cruelly he was taken from her.

“Listen,” he says softly, trying a different more tactful angle, realizing that if he pisses her off, they can kiss the Jann’s help good-bye. “You and me go way back, and you can't say I never did right by you and your brethren. My brothers and I…we never believed in that caste system crap. Why do you think I took off, and Castiel and Jeannie were imprisoned? We’ve been fighting those pricks since day one.” he pauses for a beat, taking in the softening of her stance.

“And didn’t we have some fun times?" he asks cheekily, wincing when the sharp bite of Sam's nails dig into the soft flesh of his hip.

Naomi’s eyes flare dangerously. "How dare you use our former friendship as a bargaining chip? Have you no shame?" she sneers, though not too surprised with her old friend’s presumptuousness.

_‘Oops, too far.’_ Gabriel thinks. "Ah...no." he replies sheepishly, offering her his most disarming smile, digging his heels in to keep from fidgeting as he waits for the imposing Jann to reply.

Naomi tries, she really does, to resist the Marid's charm. But try as she might, she can’t deny the truth behind his words. Her facade cracks and she grudgingly smiles, mind flooding with fond memories of the playful Marid and his siblings playing amongst her own Jann, "Very well Jibril, what will you have us do?" she finally answers, reluctant smile softening her severe mask.

"Wait!" the thundering voice of the Ifrit's leader booms. "Naomi, you may be easily appeased by a history lesson from a handsome smile and a few flattering words, but the Ifrit need more convincing."

Gabriel throws his head back and exhales a long-suffering breath. "Really Kali?" he asks the intimidating dark haired beauty creeping closer to him. "What happened to you? Our friendship...us, me…my word used to mean something to you! I used to mean something to you!"

"Jesus, Gabe!" Sam hisses. "Do we need to have a talk about how much you've gotten around?"

"Sammy, baby, shhh..." Gabriel shushes.

The Ifrit pauses and looks from the Marid to his clinging human. "I see you also wasted no time." she says, head tilted in observation, recalling her own memories of the mischievous Marid, lustful and debauched, but also honest and loyal. Which is more than she, or any of her clan, can claim of the Shaitan and their lowly treacherous practices; rage momentarily pulsing through the fearless leader when she remembers, all too clearly, the obscene levels of depravity Crowley sunk to, in order to wrench Kasha from her people.

Gabriel shrugs. "What can I say, it was love at first sight with this big galoot." He replies, commenting on her remark towards his Master.

Kali narrows her eyes and staring intently at the pair, nods. "I’m glad for you, brother. But, first, if you and your human want our help, a few of our…requests, will need to be met.” she states shrewdly.

…

When Gabriel, speaking on behalf of the Marid, has satisfactorily met all of the Jann and Ifrit’s demands, the two clans vow solemn oaths to aid the Marid in their war against the Shaitan by fulfilling their part of his proposed plan.

Once in Oman, they will journey together to the edge of the realm’s main castle, now Crowley’s stronghold. There, they will separate into two groups: Benny and Jo will join forces with Kali and her soldiers and continue until they reach the barracks where they believe the Ghul, as well as their bottles, are housed.

They’re to station themselves there and wait for Gabriel’s signal to either take possession of all the bottles, effectively defeating the Ghul, or to physically confront them in battle and subdue them by any means necessary. After much deliberation, Sam only agrees to this part of the plan once Kali guarantees his friend’s safety.

The second unit, consisting of Gabriel, Sam, Charlie, Naomi and her army of highly motivated Jann, are to infiltrate the castle and wait for Balthazar’s signal that Crowley’s bottle has been captured. Or, that they have failed and magical reinforcements are necessary to take the Shaitan and his guards down.

Oh, and at some point, acquire the phinkilium for NASA.

…

"I can't believe we’ve agreed to help the Ifrit take Kasha from the Shaitan. I mean, that makes us no better than Crowley. It’s not right. Right?" Sam argues, striding quietly beside Gabriel as they make their way back to Oman, traveling as part of the largest caravan of djinn that anyone has seen in over a millennia.

Gabriel turns to his Master and seeing the pinched look on his young face, tries to explain. "Look, Sam, I know it sounds bad, but trust you me, if the Ifrit succeed in displacing the Shaitan, then…justice is served."

"How can you say that? Yeah, sure the Shaitan are a bunch of scary dicks, but it's still their-"

"Whoa, Master!" Gabriel protests, hand reaching out to press flat against Sam's heavy heartbeat. "You've got this all wrong. Kasha belongs, rightfully, to the Ifrit. Okay, maybe it hasn’t been officially theirs for the past ten thousand years, but still, they’ve got dibs. And besides," he continues, pace quickening to catch up with the others. "The Shaitan have their own piece of land they call home.”

"Really?" Charlie chimes in, sighing heavily in relief and glad they’re not going to be the cause for the Shaitan’s displacement, even if their leader is a soulless immoral prick. "Where?"

"A, um, little mountain range right outside of what's now India. Kashmir. You’ve heard of it, right?"

"Oh yeah," Sam huffs in amusement. "Sure, I’ve heard of the place. And I’m sure Crowley’s sudden appearance and declaration of lord over that land will go over really well with the Pakistani. And the Indians. And the Chinese."

"Hmph, I think those countries and their disputes are the least of Crowley's worries.” Gabriel says with a nod towards the Ifrit marching ahead of them. “When Kali’s done with him…” he adds ominously, blowing a long high-pitched whistle for dramatic effect.

Sam stares at Kali’s retreating figure, watching as the Ifrit steadfastly leads her djinn into battle, going over the bits and pieces of information that Gabriel told him about her so far.

He’s unsure what to feel towards the powerful djinni. On the one hand, should he be impressed with Kali’s unwavering belief in the Ifrit’s hierarchy? Or, should he remain skeptical and untrusting considering Kali’s history of inciting past rebellions?

Aside from all that, Sam finds himself, grudgingly, respecting the Ifrit’s confidence for their mission and the loyalty to her own people.

“You still with me, Sammy?” Gabriel asks voice worried and closer than Sam expected, startling him out of his thoughts.

Sam pushes his hair roughly off his face, trying to shake off any residual unease and focus instead, for the time being, on the job at hand. “Yeah…I’m good.” he answers, and is pleasantly surprised when he realizes that it’s mostly true.

…

When Crowley’s door bursts open at Dean’s command dozens of Ghul pour in and immediately charge at the linked pair.

“Ha! The cavalry’s here lads and that means your time’s-“ Crowley starts yelling in triumph before he’s viciously cut off.

“Shut the fuck up!” Dean snaps magically gagging the Shaitan with a thought.

Dean turns his attention back to the advancing Ghul and yells, “Hey, any of you goons know what happened to Virgil?”

The unexpected question, momentarily, confuses and stalls them.

Dean seizes the opportunity and using their uncertainty against them, barrels on. “You boys sure you want to pick a fight with me?” he raises his hand and shoots. “Bang!” He shouts, and the unfortunate Ghul he pointed his shooting finger to flies back, slamming with tremendous force against several of his brothers, mortar, dust and debris raining down on top them.

The gathered Ghul, injured and stunned alike, gawk at the human. The ones on the ground attempt to crawl away, while the ones still standing turn and try to flee through the shattered doorway, all the while dodging the invisible, but bone shattering gunshots, that continue to rain down on them from their attacker.

They scatter, several trying to regain their footing, others reaching for their lost scimitars, still others pausing to tap into a _higher magic_ that will replenish and enhance their weaker powers.

Dean throws his head back and laughs squeezing Castiel tightly against his side. “See, told ya I’m awesome.” He gloats, tickled and overconfident when his tiny burst of magic easily overpowers the Ghul’s larger numbers.

Castiel rolls his eyes and is about to reply when the familiar sound of a bloodcurdling cackle, stops him short.

_Meg!_ And it all suddenly becomes clear to him, the real power behind the Ghul’s tenacity is not Crowley, but his daughter.

“Hello, boys.” Meg calls out, strolling in as if the past few days never happened. She stops just inside the entrance and sweeping her eyes around the room settles her darkened gaze on Dean and Castiel. “Jamil, Mustafa, miss me? ‘Cause I sure did miss you.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Majlis al Jinn- is the largest cave chamber in the world located at the Selma Plateau in the Sultanate of Oman and the sacred meeting place for all the djinn
> 
> Jamil-in Arabic means Beautiful--Meg's pet name for Castiel
> 
> Mustafa- in Arabic means The One--Meg's pet name for Dean
> 
> Kaf- Djinn heaven


	20. Alll because of Fate, or is it?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Whut? Nooo…no!” Crowley shouts. “Good thing you’ve got your smoldering good looks to fall back on, mate, because if you seriously believe I’d willingly help you imprison me, then you’re even crazier than Meg!”

Reacting out of pure instinct, Castiel pulls Dean closer to his side, fingers curling protectively around the back of his Master’s neck, wasting no time as he makes quick work on the remaining conscious Ghul, vanishing them from the room, only the slightest narrowing of his eyes giving away that he exerted any power.

“Meg.” He hisses.

“How the fuck did you get out?” Dean grits out, right to the point, emboldened from the warmth of Castiel’s touch.

The Shaitan moves closer to the pair, gaze darkening until her eyes are completely black. She opens her mouth, pointed tongue pocking out to moisten her ruby lips, and smiles. “Didn’t you hear? There’s a new queen in town.” She singsongs. “Long live the queen.” She shouts. “And as of now, she’s taking over this Popsicle stand.”

Castiel glowers back, completely unimpressed with her unintelligible ranting. “You’re already defeated.” He points out, gesturing with his free hand towards her bound father.

“Why’s that?” she asks brow cocked in confusion even though she has a clear view of Crowley’s immobilized figure struggling uselessly against his restraints. “Hmph, you mean daddy dearest?” she snorts. “If anything, I should be thanking you, baby. Thank you for getting him out of the way for me. Thank you for tying him up nice and super secure. Now _he’s_ the one who’ll be taking a nice long nap in his bottle.” She bites out bitterly.

“You’re nuts!” Dean bites back, immediately wondering if Meg knows the location of Crowley’s bottle.

Her pitch black eyes zero in on him. “Baby, you have no idea.” She agrees and blinks.

Taking full advantage of their telepathic link, Dean and Castiel silently agree to let Meg believe she has complete control over them.

They’re doing this for the same reasons they had earlier allowed Crowley believe that they were powerless when he ordered them shackled. Finding Crowley’s bottle is their top priority and without it, the other djinn in his clan will rally, tapping, like parasites, into their absent leader’s superior strength, and the war the Marid are so desperately trying to avoid, will be inevitable. 

So, they play along, stalling until they receive Balthazar’s signal that the bottle’s been successfully located or until Meg reveals where it's hidden.

“To bad I don’t know where he keeps it.” she huffs out.

‘Well that answers that.’ Dean signals to Castiel. “Wait, you mean you have no clue? Come on, you know him better than anyone, you gotta have some idea.” Dean pushes, trying for subtle but failing.

She regards him through narrowed eyes, and smirks. “Boy Dean, you sure are transparent. You’re not here ‘cause you’re looking for his bottle too, are you?”

“Meg, we care neither for you nor your father.” Castiel breaks in. “We’re here…it doesn’t matter why we’re here.” He stammers, hoping she jumps to the same conclusion Crowley had when he captured them in her room.

“Hah! I knew it!” she exclaims taking the bait. “You think you’re so smart, don’t you? You’re here for your bottle, Castiel. Daddy did get it back.” she mutters. “Well let me fill you in on a little secret, Jamil baby, I know all his hiding places and it’s only a matter of time until I find it. And when I do, you will be _mine._ ” She pauses to catch her breath, chest rising and falling along with the thundering beat of her heart.

She eyes him suspiciously and boldly walks right up to him, unaware of the danger she’s placed herself in by standing so close to the djinni, Dean’s low snarl getting no outwardly reaction from her. “Of course, we, um, could make a trade.” She offers, glancing slyly over to Dean. “Your bottle for your Master.”

“Meghan, you truly are insane if you think I would let you take my Master.” Castiel replies automatically, eyes glowing a preternaturally blue, voice edged with steel, fingers digging into Dean’s hip.

“Heh, have it your way then.” she shrugs and blinks, magically transporting Dean from Castiel’s hold and out of the room. “Shoulda taken the deal, baby. Now you get neither and I get both. Yay me!” she yells in triumph and vanishes.

Castiel spins on the spot, half expecting to see his Master standing to the side and smirking at his expense. “Dean!” he calls out trying for the sake of his people, and their mission, to keep himself under control and not fly directly to his Master’s signal.

“Now, now, Cassie, do try to get yourself under control before traipsing off." Balthazar, now visible, scolds. "Here, perhaps this will help defuse that nasty temper of yours." he offers holding up an oblong intricately etched pewter bottle.

"Crowley’s?" Castiel asks hopefully, reaching for it.

"Meg's." Balthazar answers with a shake of his head.

“Brother,” Castiel growls, anger at his brother’s blatant stupidity coiling hot and thick in his core. “Why did you release that demon?”

Balthazar releases his hold and throws his hands up in surrender. “Look, I can see you’re upset, but in my defense, I was hoping she would lead us to Crowley’s bottle. Wee bit of a faux pas, I dare say.” He apologizes lamely, more than a little shamefaced over his poor judgment.

Castiel scowls and grabs Meg’s bottle, breath catching in his throat when he senses Dean's presence the second his skin makes contact with the cool surface. He turns back to Balthazar and says in a low sly voice, “Not to worry, I have a plan.”

“Well, that does sound all kinds of dangerous.” Balthazar mock trembles, greatly relieved that’s he’s apparently off the hook.

Castiel ignores him and instead turns his gaze to the far side of the room where their forgotten captive, Crowley, still lies bound and helpless on his bed.

He crosses the room and takes the first two steps leading to Crowley’s bed before stopping to blink the Shaitan’s gag away. “Crowley, I have a proposition for you, one that I’m afraid does not bode well for you. However, once you hear it, I’m sure you’ll agree that in the end, it’s the best deal you could ever hope to receive from the Marid.”

“Well, well, let me guess, you still haven’t been able to find my bottle? Finally tire of searching for it, boys?” the Shaitan asks snidely. “Or is the hybrid still on his hands and knees somewhere poking in every nasty corner diligently looking for it?”

Castiel levels Crowley with a murderous glare and advances. He proceeds to explain, in detail, what he expects from the Shaitan and what the outcome will be if he refuses to cooperate.

“Whut? Nooo…no!” Crowley shouts. “Good thing you’ve got your smoldering good looks to fall back on, mate, because if you seriously believe I’d willingly help you imprison me, then you’re even crazier than Meg!”

“Perhaps I didn’t make myself clear.” Castiel answers calmly, unperturbed by the Shaitan’s outburst. “You will be imprisoned in your bottle, regardless, of your assistance.”

Crowley twists and strains against the golden ties binding his power. “Mrrmpht!” He splutters and spews as Castiel and Balthazar silently watch on, ready to ‘convince’ him of their plan, when the Shaitan finally settles. “Then why the bloody hell are you even bothering to ask?” he wants to know.

“Because I need to move this along. We have wasted enough precious time searching for your blasted bottle and my patience is at an end.”Castiel spits out. “And,” he adds as the air around him crackles with pent up fury. “Because, if you do not, then instead of just spending the next two thousand years in the privacy of your own bottle, contemplating your crimes and groveling for forgiveness, we will place Meg in there as well, to, um, keep you focused.” he threatens voice cold and deadly, brooking no doubt.

Crowley gapes in horror reading the truth in Castiel’s narrow eyed stare. He sighs heavily, resigned to his fate when something occurs to him. “Ah, but that’s the crux of it, eh? You don’t have my bottle. You haven’t been able to find it, and trust me ducky, you never will.” He challenges, calling their bluff.

“Oh, don’t doubt for a second that we will find your bottle or worse yet, that Meg will. And with her under our control…” Castiel pauses when Crowley’s smug arrogant smirk is replaced with one of sheer agony. “Ah, yes, apologies, I forgot to mention that your daughter’s bottle is already in our possession, and that Balthazar is her Master.” he points out helpfully while Balthazar waves the bottle victoriously over his head. “So you see, sooner rather than later, one of us will find it and once we do, my generous offer to let you keep a private prison, is off the table.”

He stops to consider the effect his words are having on Crowley and quickly adds, “Oh, and as an added incentive, I think we’ll include Zachariah as another bottle mate. Perhaps that will spur you into making the right decision.”

“This…this is cruel and unusual punishment, this is!” the Shaitan declares vehemently. “You won’t get away with this, you-“

Balthazar blinks and Crowley’s mouth is once again, gagged. “Really, Shaitan, look around you, we already have. Now be a lamb and just tell us where the damn thing is. I’ve got plans tonight, and I don’t intend to stand her up. Cassie…” he turns to his brother and with a nod urges him to use his powers to persuade the very stubborn Shaitan.

“Simply know this, the longer you stall, and the longer I’m separated from my Master, the more centuries will be added to your already lengthy sentence. Do not test me, Shaitan.” Castile warns raising a hand towards Crowley’s head.

“Mmmpfttt!” Crowley screeches through the gag.

“What was that? Couldn’t quite make it out.” Balthazar taunts and grinning blinks the gag away.

“Fine, you win! I surrender, you bastards, I surrender.” The Shaitan wheezes.

Balthazar steps closer to Castiel and leaning against his side, says, “See brother, I told you all you had to do was ask nicely.”

…

"Where the fuck are we?" Dean snarls.

He’s tied to a chair, unable to move his body but manages to swivel his head around to check out his surroundings. The room is heavily curtained with a ridiculously vaulted ceiling and ornate furnishings.

"Seriously, you blinked us into your bottle?" he answers correctly, grimacing. “Real original.” He snorts, grateful that now all they need to do is locate Crowley’s missing bottle.

"Aww, Dean, no fair! I was gonna give you three guesses. Now you've gone and ruined the big reveal." Meg pouts.

She walks towards his seat, finger trailing a section of the golden rope securing him tightly to his chair, and hums. The chair is simple and bare of decorations but glowing faintly with her magic.

“You look good enough to eat.” She says seductively and closing the distance swings her leg over his body and settles, facing forward, onto his lap.

"Get the fuck off me, bitch!" he spits and bucks, trying, ineffectually, to knock her off.

The unexpected movement only manages to get her more excited. "Woo-hoo! Ride ‘em cowboy!" She yelps falling forward and wrapping her arms around his neck and her legs around his waist. "Come on baby, do me like you would that pretty djinni of yours, hm." she whispers leaning in to place her slightly parted lips over Dean's tightly clenched mouth.

“Damn! Now, that’s what I’m talking about!” she hoots. “But still, not enough.” She complains when she only gets the faintest rush of power from their brief touch of lips.

He knows he can easily rid himself of the obnoxious Shaitan, but he won't. He promised his brother he would go along with their plan, and he will, regardless of the itch to tear and punch and maim. So while he waits to be rescued by Castiel or for Meg to unintentionally steer him towards Crowley’s bottle, he grits his teeth and tolerates her advances.

She pulls back and tsks. "Come on, if you play nice and give me what I want, I promise I’ll let Castiel join us for the next go around." she sighs into his ear, grinding dirtily on his lap, desperately trying to arouse his very uncooperative dick. "Boy, you sure are stubborn." she relents and pulls off, unwrapping her limbs from his body.

"Bite me!" he snaps.

“Oh I will.” She states with certainty and climbs off.

Stepping behind him, she takes a handful of his hair, and yanks. “Pucker up, baby.” She orders and proceeds to plunge her tongue through the tight barrier of his lips. “Much better!” she gloats, pitch black eyes rolling back, convulsing from the full body shivers Dean’s essence imparts. “Holy shit, I think I just soaked my panties.”

Dean grunts revolted and furious, as well as mildly terrified, knowing that the more Meg kisses him, the stronger she becomes, and therefore, the more difficult to defeat. He arches back in an attempt to get as far away from her face as his restraints will allow.

“I’m afraid I’m gonna have to take away all of your wiggle room ‘cause I sure can’t have you pulling away from me every time I try to get a kiss. That’s okay, though, I don’t mind doing all the work.” she ensures and smiling wickedly blinks.

“Fuck you!” Dean spits out, quickly nearing his breaking point because now, instead of just his hands and ankles tied with magical restraints, he has to deal with the discomfort and claustrophobia inducing braces clamped around his neck and forehead, securing his head to the newly elongated chair’s back.

Satisfied with her handiwork, Meg resettles on Dean’s lap, legs on either side of his thighs, leaning in and easily claiming his lips. She whimpers and moans against him, hips gyrating provocatively, urging a reaction only to pull away, thoroughly frustrated and done with his lack of response.

She opens her eyes, ready with another ‘persuasive’ argument, when what she sees instead, makes all motion, especially her heartbeat, come to a complete stand still. "Argh!!!!" she screams in horror, shattering the delicate barrier around the bottle's inner walls. "Daddy! What!? How?!" she screeches and wails, flailing in shock and falling off his lap, hitting the floor with a heavy thump, desperately scrambling to scoot back and away.

"Oh for the love of..." Crowley cries out. "Will you please pull yourself together and untie me, already!"

"But how?! Where's Mustafa? What have you done with him?!" she demands, eyes blackened in suspicion, all sense of rationality gone.

"Oh dear…” the former king of the Shaitan sighs wearily. “This is going to be a very long two thousand years."

…

"Um, any day now, you two." Balthazar says loudly, trying to be heard over the soft whisperings and loud wet lip-smacking sounds coming from the reunited couple, impatiently tapping the face of an imaginary wristwatch to get their attention.

It’s been several minutes since Castiel switched Dean's magnificent and desirable body for Crowley's less than covetous one, rescuing him from Meg's evil clutches and the prison of her bottle.

"Did you hear something?" Dean breathes into Castiel's expectant mouth.

"Mmm...mo." the djinni mumbles around a mouthful of his Master's tongue.

"Very well, then.” Balthazar huffs. “Guess it’s up to me to go and help the rest of our team wage battle against the rebellion that might be afoot. Probably get myself killed in the process, because you two can’t be bothered-"

"Jesus! Okay, okay!" Dean snaps, head turned to give Balthazar his grumpiest stink-eye. "We're coming already." He barks and turning back to the djinni, reiterates his earlier gripe. "Did I mention how sick and tired I am with all of these interruptions?" and taking one last playful nip of Castiel’s succulent upper lip, says, "After you, baby."

The djinni hums against Dean’s mouth, body rocking towards his Master’s when he pulls away, chasing his heat. “I promise that when this is over, I will make it my personal mission to see that we never be disturbed again, under penalty of serious hobbling.” He vows, the low rumble in his voice sending shivers of want straight through Dean’s core.

Dean’s eyes widen, lust filled gaze drowning in the gorgeous man before him. He doesn’t speak, has no verbal response other than incoherent groans and whimpers, but his mind is abuzz with wicked love laced thoughts, all internal systems shouting out how totally on board he is with Castiel’s proposal.

_‘Hells yeah! Let’s hurry the fuck up already so we can move on with what really matters, making sweet-sweet love!’_

Not that he would ever verbally admit to that last particular declaration. But it’s no use, if the djinni’s large grin is anything to go by, confirming, more than anything else, that Dean’s true feelings transmitted loud and clear.

Completely disregarding Balthazar’s need for urgency, Castiel pulls Dean in for one more brutal crush of lips. “To be continued.” He promises, eyes focused on Dean’s mouth, voice a thick rasp.

“Yeah.” Dean croaks back, eyes unblinking as Castiel swallows him with his gaze.

“Pahleeze! I’m aging rapidly here, chaps. Do you mind?” Balthazar begs, clasping his hands tightly together, praying for their cooperation.

“My apologies, brother.” Castiel says, reluctantly pulling away from Dean, small secret smile gracing his kiss swollen lips, and closes his eyes.

It takes him less than a second to find Gabriel. When he does, he only gives brief details of their victory, assuring his brother the full story, once the whole team is reunited.

_‘The Shaitan and his diabolic daughter are no longer a threat.’_ He relays with his mind. _‘Make_ _haste and gather the Jann and the Ifrit with the rest of our team. We rendezvous in fifteen_ _minutes.’_ He commands and severs their connection.

…

Gabriel and his crew immediately fly to Kali’s side to give her, Benny and Jo the good news. But to their great dismay, find the Ifrit already engaged in battle with the Ghul.

Gabriel and the Jann quickly join the fray, Gabriel moving immediately to shield Sam with his magic, protecting him from any blows that might break through the invisible barrier Naomi and her Jann setup upon arrival.

He gathers his strength, more than half of it concentrated on safeguarding his Master, the rest accumulating and transforming into a golden orb, tightly coiled and pulsating with power, that he casually tosses back and forth between his hands, waiting for an opening or an object to throw it against.

But the more he waits for the right moment to present itself, the more he realizes, with great relief, that the battle is completely one sided; without Crowley or Meg’s power to draw from, the unlucky Ghul are easily overpowered by Kali. But regardless of the incredible odds stacked against them, the Ghul put up a brave front, stubbornly refusing to bow down to the might and fury of the Ifrit and their superior magic.

“Yield!” Kali commands, heel digging painfully into the lead Ghul’s throat, pinning him down and keeping him immobile until he relents and surrenders. “Your Masters are under our control, now, Ghul. Submit or suffer their fate.” Her tone and the truth of her threat, finally bend the remainder of the Ghul to her will, ending the brief skirmish before too much damage is inflicted to either party.

When the dust settles, Gabriel along with Kali and Naomi, gather the remaining Ghul and entreat them to stand down and end the conflict between their people, or suffer the wrath of the untied tribes of the Marid, Jann, and Ifrit.

The Ghul, realizing their greatly weakened status without the Shaitan’s support, reluctantly but wisely, cede.

The newly united djinn leaders, with Gabriel speaking again on behalf of the Marid, agree to allow the Ghul to flee back to their own land under the condition that they never again rise against the other tribes, or seek to enhance their powers or numbers with the aid of any other tribe. And, as a first step towards redemption, they must agree to never meet with any djinni from the Shaitan clan and forever promise their loyalty, solely, to the three tribes.

…

Once Crowley’s, Meg’s and Zachariah’s bottles are sealed, Castiel, Dean and Balthazar each take one and travel around the globe to store them in different secret locations, with only the members of the council knowing their final hiding place.

When they materialize in the castle’s magnificent ballroom, they find the already gathered djinn there mingling and bonding, houses and sects forgotten, the air full of hope and true kinship, united and equal from this day forward, brothers in name as well as purpose.

When the remainder of Gabriel’s team pops in, the first thing Sam does is look for his brother. He spies Dean leaning against a white marble column, one arm wrapped possessively around Castiel’s waist, laughing and looking happy. It makes Sam’s heart soar, overjoyed because it’s been too long since he’s seen his brother look this relaxed and at peace.

He excuses himself from Gabriel’s side to weave his way through the crowded room, making a beeline towards the disgustingly affectionate couple. They’re grossly adorable but he won’t tease them about it, for now, but as a dutiful younger brother, vows never to let Dean live this down, and will use the ammunition against him when Dean least expects it.

_‘More fun that way’_ , he reasons.

He gently nudges his way through the adoring throng huddled around the happy couple. And finally standing in front of the pair, lunges, wrapping them both in his long arms to squeeze his congratulations and well wishes into their creaking muscles.

“Mpffeeth!” Dean groans, all too familiar with Sam’s massive man-hugs.

“Oomph!” Castiel huffs out in surprise but greatly pleased by his future brother-in-law's genuine affection and acceptance. “Thank you Sam.” 

Castiel’s voice is deeper than usual, so Sam pulls away to investigate.

Looking at the djinni, Sam can’t help but recall his initial impression that this _man, djinni, god,_ _supernatural being,_ whatever, is the perfect counterpart to his wayward brother. A smile of sheer gratitude adorns the djinni’s face, and Sam realizes that he isn’t just thanking him for the hug.

“You’re welcome, Cas.” He replies, shy smile acknowledging and confirming all that’s going unsaid between them, these two men, apart from John and Bobby, that care the most for Dean.

“You two done? Sammy, you’re getting your breast milk all over me and Cas, man.”

And the moment’s over.

Sam groans at Dean’s tasteless remark, Castiel rolls his eyes, but they laugh nonetheless, relief flooding their systems, spirits soaring high from their mission’s success.

The Shaitan clan, now led by a not-as-ambitious leader, has been subdued and sent back to their ancestral lands.

The Ghul, forbidden to deal with the Shaitan and not allowed membership in the newly created djinn council, will nonetheless be allowed to rest in Kaf when they pass from this world.

The Jann and Ifrit, compensated for their allegiance to the Marid, are now equal partners and have a say in the welfare and governing of the all the djinn.

As for the phinkilium, Castiel made sure Crowley signed over all of the rights for all of the current and future stores of the mined mineral from Kasha. However, when he learned of Gabriel’s deal that Kasha would return to the Ifrit in exchange for their aid, his heart dropped and dread pooled in his stomach.

He desperately wants to keep his promise to the General and hopes appealing to the Ifrit leader’s good sense will get her to approve the transfer. He prepares to deliver his argument, highlighting the benefits of such a deal for the Ifrit, when to his great relief, Kali gladly agrees to the same contract he presented to Crowley, without any reservations.

“We are family now, brother.” Kali says, voice cool, absent of any warmth, but her eyes regard Castiel with a heated intensity communicating her deep commitment to their united causes.

“My most humble thanks, sister.” Castiel replies, throat dry and locking up from her generous act and emotional declaration.

…

“You know, we make a pretty good team.” Dean whispers to his fiancé, pressing kisses against the djinni’s stubbled cheek, when they finally get a moment to themselves.

Their friends, old and new, are still celebrating, basking in their shared victory and bright futures. Everyone’s enjoying themselves too much to let the evening come to an end.

“I should hope so, considering we were fated to be together.” Castiel whispers back, tipping his head to the side so that Dean’s lips drag towards his arched neck.

Dean pulls back and opens his mouth to protest. They alone deserve all the credit for their relationship, he’s wants to argue. They’ve earned it. They fought and bled for it. Cried and suffered for it, not some unknown, mysterious force. But when Castiel turns his head to catch him in a kiss, all arguments, heck, all coherent thinking, abandons Dean.

“Were you going to say something?” Castiel moans sweetly, breaking away after several minutes and only when the need for oxygen became too urgent to ignore.

_‘Was I going to say something?’_ Dean tries to recall.

He muddles through his thoughts, sorting through a thick haze of joy and despair, want and need, and love, love, love.

_‘Oh, that’s right, fate.’_ He was about to share his very unfavorable opinions on fate, when he was distracted again, by his very distracting fiancé.

_‘Where to start?’_ he silently ponders his choices. Should he point out how against all odds, fate continuously brought them together, steering them until their paths aligned, insuring that they always end up in each other’s arms.

Or, should he bring up the fact that because of fate, he’ll never again be lonely, his heart overflowing with love, his fractured soul, still a work in progress, mending.

Dean’s heart rate speeds up the longer he searches for the right words that can encompass his views on fate.

Thanks to fate, his love is wanted, appreciated, and treasured in the form of a six-foot tall, sexy as hell, djinni; who also happens to be endowed with a long, thick, gorgeous, mouth-watering cock.

Fate gave Dean the most incredible, exciting, loving, steadfast, stubborn, hard headed, fuckable, perfect being the astronaut has ever known.

And in return, fate, that cruel bitch, gave the long-suffering djinni, Dean.

"Hmpht." Dean can’t help but snort, laughing softly at the unfairness of such a trade. But he’s not about to complain. Instead, he presses his nose into the crook of the djinni’s neck, inhaling deeply the intoxicating blend of scents that are all and completely Castiel.

_‘Yeah, he can think of a few choice words on fate.’_

“Thank god for fate.” He finally answers softly, taking the djinni’s face between his warm hands and diving back in to latch his lips with Castiel’s, kissing him long and deep, because really, _‘Breathing’s overrated.’_

 


	21. Epilogue-Part One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He huffs a laugh against the djinni’s mouth and mumbles “Relax, baby.” 
> 
> “M’ut, M’ean, mmy mwanma m’iss?” Castiel mumbles back, lips pressed flat against Dean’s.
> 
> Dean pulls away, barely an inch separating them and whispers, “Cas, it’s a human tradition. When couples get an engagement party, the people throwing it like to embarrass the shit out of them. So, c’mere, and kiss me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The epilogue I've written is soooo long, I decided to post it in three separate parts. I'll be posting them on Friday's until completion.  
> This first part is about how our heroes' lives unfold during the course of a year after their triumphant return from Oman and the fall of the Shaitan.

**Two days later: Coco Beach**

“At ease, men.” The General says to the assembled officers in his office.

He’s so relieved to have his boys back -heck, all of his team really- that he takes his time to leisurely rifle through the report they presented to him upon their return, early that morning; deep satisfaction sinking in as he absorbs the impact of their great success.

It’s a far cry from the way he felt and behaved when he heard about the impending coup; just ask the poor solider that was unfortunate enough to deliver Sam’s message. After chewing out the engineer, his immediate reaction, just as Dean had predicted, was to order that his team pull out and be brought back, by force, if necessary.

But Bobby stepped in, just as Sam had guessed, and ‘calmly’ asked John to be patient and trust in the team _he_ handpicked, to get the job done, with a smattering of _dumb-ass_ and _idjit_ thrown in for good measure.

And according to the report, his officers got the job done and then some.

“Sam, you witnessed the signing?” the General asks. “And, the phinkilium is ready to ship here as of the signing?”

“Yes, sir.” Sam replies snapping to attention.

“Dean, you were there when they swore in the new Emir, a…” he pauses, looking back through his notes. “Kali-Shula Al Hashim?”

Dean, back ramrod straight, eyes looking over the General’s head answers in the affirmative.

“It also says here, she’s eager and ready to aid and assist the US in each and every endeavor that will heighten both of our country’s knowledge and advancement in regards to space travel.” 

"That’s correct, sir.”

“Well…” John’s so pleased and full of emotion he has to pause for a moment before he can continue. “I’m going to hand copies of this over to NASA for their analysis, but as far as I can see…congratulations men, job well done.” The pride in his voice loud and clear.

…

After the General dismisses them, they slowly file out of his office. But before Dean exits, John reaches out and stops him with a tap on the arm. “A word, son.”

“Ah, sure, sir.” Dean replies, nerves kicking up an uncomfortable notch.

“Take a seat, Dean.”

Dean does as he’s told and sits, trying hard to keep still and not fidget.

He can’t help but be nervous. The last time he met with his father, things didn’t turn out so well for him. So, of course he’s anxious and tense, nervously anticipating another reprimand for disobeying the General’s orders, regardless of the successful outcome. Plus the stern look his father throws his way, does nothing to ease the wave of nausea currently housing itself in the pit of his stomach. He shifts, ever so slightly in his seat, willing his violently churning gut to calm the fuck down.

“Dean, I asked you to stay behind because I want to clear the air about a few things.”

Dean wants to vomit. _‘Here we go. Goodbye First Lieutenant, hello Second Lieutenant. God, another_ _drop in rank? Now I’m gonna be under Gabe?’  
_

"Dean, son, I can see you’re nervous and I’m not going to lie to you, you should be. You disregarded my orders and you went to Oman instead of Kasha. This is serious. I can have you stripped of your rank. I can have you kicked out.” He stresses. “But…” he exhales. “I’m willing…I’m going to give you a pass. This once only, because I understand.”

_‘Huh?’_

“Dean, off the record, if I were in your place, I’d do the same thing. If it were your mother out there in danger, being held against her will, away from me…I’d move heaven and hell to get her back.” John admits with such fierce intensity, Dean easily recalls the hours, days and months, his father spent pouring over medical journals, never leaving his mother’s bedside, hoping against hope to find the answer to his wife’s incurable cancer.

Dean’s stunned by his father’s admission but at the same time hopeful from his news, wisely deciding to remain silent and wait for permission to speak, not daring to presume he’s out of danger until the General specifically says so.

“Have I made myself clear, son?”

And, with those six little words, Dean exhales a long relieved breath he didn’t realize he was holding.

“Sir, I…thank you, for everything. I apologize for not following your orders. But Cas…it’ll never happen again, sir.”

“Oh, I know it won’t, because I guarantee that the next time, will be the last time.” John replies, expression grim, posture tense. But then he slumps back against his seat and smiles, all the tension bleeding from his broad shoulders. “Now, get going.” He says in a softer tone. “I’m sure you don’t want your team to start celebrating without their Captain.”

“Sir?” Dean asks dumbly, afraid to believe what he thinks he just heard.

“Oh, and don’t forget, I want you and Castiel over tomorrow night for dinner. Tell Sam and Gabe I expect them too. Seven pm sharp. Dismissed…Captain.”

Dean stands and salutes, he’s on automatic, head swimming from the unexpected turn of events. “Yes, sir.” He replies and spins on his heel. When he gets to the door, he turns his head and looks over to his father, searching for the right words that will express his appreciation, relief, and thankfulness. But he’s so overcome with gratitude, he only manages, “Thanks dad.” Before finally exiting.

…

**The Roadhouse: Two weeks later**

“Kiss, kiss, kiss, kiss…”

The crowd’s boisterous chanting, combined with the heavy thumping of fists against the worn wooden surface of the restaurant’s dining tables, easily drowns out the classic rock playing softly in the background.

Dean scans the room, heart swelling with gratitude and love for every single one of the beaming faces looking right back at him.

It’s a huge turnout. Family and friends, old and new, scattered throughout the large space.

He quickly spots Jo perched on Benny’s lap. Charlie and her girlfriend of the week, Dorothy, leaning against one another by the bar. He spies Bobby sitting at a nearby table with Ellen’s hand curled affectionately around his neck. And right next to them, John.

Dean looks across his table, grinning when he spots his brother and Gabe. But when he glances to his right, his grin opens up into a wide dazzling smile, heart fluttering at the sight of Castiel. The djinni’s wide-eyed look of embarrassment, mixed with affection, pushes Dean’s already full heart to overflow and his body to automatically close the inches that separate his lips from the shocked “O” of Castiel’s mouth.

He huffs a laugh against the djinni’s lips and mumbles “Relax, baby.”

“M’ut, M’ean, mmy mwanma m’iss?” Castiel mumbles back, lips pressed flat against Dean’s.

Dean pulls away, barely an inch separating them and whispers, “Cas, it’s a human tradition. When couples get an engagement party, the people throwing it like to embarrass the shit out of them. So, c’mere, and kiss me.”

_‘Oh.’_

Castiel blushes furiously, and sighing softly closes the distance to seal his lips against Dean’s.

As soon as their lips touch, the crowd erupts in cheers and howls, loud clapping accompanied with a few comments suggesting they go get a room. While others gag loudly, claiming they’ll need to have their brains bleached after such a blatant display of sappiness,

Dean grins into the kiss and forces himself to keep it ‘church’ worthy. It’s a battle he quickly loses, however, when the kiss goes from chaste to downright filthy after three seconds of contact.

When they finally break for air, Dean smacks his lips, savoring what he just tasted, and with a curious expression, asks, “That a Purple-Nurple, Jo made for you?”

“I…yes.”

“Awesome.” He chuckles and forgoing the crowd’s encouragement, or complaints, dives back into Castiel’s smiling mouth, savoring, again, the addictive taste of his new favorite flavor.

…

It’s almost four hours later when the party finally starts to wind down. Everyone’s gone from pleasantly buzzed to downright shit-faced. Definitely time for last call.

With a prompt from his brother, Dean stands, and holding onto his obnoxiously purple cocktail, taps his knife against it to get everyone’s attention. “Everybody.” He calls out. “Guys…”

A loud high-pitched whistle cuts through the noise and suddenly all eyes are on Dean.

“Thanks, Gabe.” He says to the smirking djinni and turns back to his audience. “I just wanted to say, on behalf of me and Cas, that we really appreciate how you guys took the time to throw us this awesome party. We, ah, really liked it. Hell, we loved it. So, if this is what our engagement party is like, then I guarantee we’ll knock your socks off with the actual wedding! Cheers!” he toasts and clinks his glass, first against Castiel’s, and then with all those within reach.

“Kiss, kiss, kiss, kiss…”

Bowing to the crowd’s demands Dean turns to his fiancé, more than willing to help guide him through the awkward tradition. Instead, he’s pleasantly caught off guard, and almost knocked off balance, when Castiel throws himself enthusiastically into the custom.

“I believe this is my new favorite institution, Master.” The djinni whispers against Dean’s lips.

“Mmm,” Dean hums in return. “Mine too, baby.” He happily agrees, eagerly returning the djinni’s kisses, knowing without a doubt, Castiel’s new favorite tradition is now his as well.

…

**Sam and Gabriel’s condo: four months later**

“Shhhh…everyone, quiet, I think they’re here!” Sam hisses, warning his guests to shut up after clearly hearing the petulant tone in his brother’s voice rising and falling over whatever argument he’s currently having, on the other side of his door.

“I don’t know, Cas, Sam said to be here at seven. So what if we’re a little late, I was horny!”

“Dean-” is all Castiel gets to say before the door bursts open and the thunderous shout of ‘SURPRISE’ startles him into Dean’s protective arms.

“Pretty nice, Sammy.” A genuinely surprised Dean shouts over to his brother, gently guiding his equally stunned fiancé into the crowded living room.

“Yeah, well with the big day fast approaching we figured we’d better get a move on and throw you a party.”

“Right, but since we couldn’t decide which one of you would get the 'bridal shower' and which one would get the far better, in my humble opinion, 'stripper-coming-out-of-giant-cake-bachelor-party' we compromised and decided to give you a combined...send off.

“So instead of the stripper coming out of a giant cake, she’s gonna come out of that giant wishing well.” Gabriel jokes gesturing to the enormous floral laden wicker-well nestled in the far corner of their living room. “It’s up to you two to decide who gets the lap-dance.” He teases grinning wickedly at the proposed image.

“Gabe!” both Sam and Castiel warn. Some things never change.

“Alright then.” Balthazar says, suddenly appearing out of thin air and moving to stand next to his chastised brother. “Cassie, my love!” he exclaims delightedly. “Dean.” He says dryly, voice without inflection.

“Dick.” Dean mimics in tone. But he’s unable to keep a straight face and breaking into a large grin, rushes forward to wrap an arm around the blonde djinni’s shoulders, pulling him in for a crushing hug. “How the hell are you, man?”

“Brother, we’ve missed you.” Castiel adds joining them in their embrace.

“Yes, of course you have.” Balthazar wheezes when he finally manages to get air back into his lungs. He takes a step back, posture cool and aloof, but even the room’s dim lighting can’t obscure his small pleased smile and the two pink splotches riding high on his cheeks.

…

A few minutes later, Dean and Castiel are ushered towards the front of the room where each sits on his own elaborately decorated wicker-throne. There, they spend the next hour ‘holding-court’ greeting and chatting, for a few moments, with each and every guest.

“Damn, these are delicious!” Dean exclaims, happily chomping down on his third piece of the bite-size bacon wrapped filet-Mignon, that the wait staff is currently circulating.

“Mmm…try the bacon wrapped dates.” Castiel moans and then rolls his eyes at Dean’s rude retching noises.

“Yuk and no thanks.”

“Very well, the date by itself then it’s truly del-“

“Double yuk and I’ll tell you why. One, meat and fruit, not natural. And two, dates.” Dean points out flatly, faux-retching again to make sure his distaste for the fruit is unmistakable.

“How about now?” Castiel asks the deep rumble of his words vibrating around the date caught between his teeth.

Dean’s jaw drops. “M...maybe, guess…yeah, I’ll try it…” he stammers, mouth widening in anticipation.

They both lean towards each other; upper bodies stretching over their chair’s armrests until their mouths connect.

“Well?” Castiel asks voice shaky from lack of oxygen.

When Dean took the date, slurping it into his mouth, he also latched onto the djinni’s tongue, sucking on it with an obscene amount of gusto and moaning appreciatively when the mingled sweetness of the dried fruit and Castiel’s own delicious flavor, short circuited his brain.

“What can I say, baby? I’ll never doubt you again.” he replies, trademark shit eating grin plastered firmly on his face. “But, just so you know, _that_ is the only way I’ll ever take dried fruit again. With a little side of your tongue.”

“Argh! Gross! Dean, do you mind? I’m standing right here!” Charlie yelps, mortified.

…

An hour later, the honored couple, each wearing brightly colored floral coronets, are laughing loudly and at moments uncontrollably, from the lewd assortment of party favors and gifts their friends selected for them.

“Come on, Jo, really?” Dean asks his cousin, eyebrow cocked as he stares, with mock disgust, at the giant phallus he’s just unwrapped. “You trying to give your boy a complex?” he smirks pulling out the giant dick and using it to point in her general direction.

“Eww, Dean, quit it!” Charlie shouts from where she’s sitting.

“Yeah, Dean, what, too big? From the way I’ve seen you limping around lately…” she teases throwing a mischievous wink to Castiel.

“Hmph, I’d like to see how good you walk after having a dick as big as Cas’-“

“Whoa, brotha, okay, I’m calling a time out.” Benny steps in, hands crossed to form a ‘T’, hoping to stop Dean and Jo from completely derailing the party and sending it to an even lower level of moral depravity. “Getting a little personal there. Innocent bystander, here.”

Castiel leans over his seat and takes the enormous dick from Dean’s tight grip. He holds it up, its heavy rubbery weight causing it to flap back and forth like a metronome. “Jo,” he starts, settling his blue gaze on her. “What Dean is trying to say is that, contrary to what you may think, this cock is too small. For either of us.” he clarifies, smile small, but smug.

_‘So much for keeping the party classy.’_ Benny thinks chuckling softly against Jo’s temple.

Dean stares at Castiel, mouth gaping, because hello, TMI. But he shakes his head instead and laughs. “Hey.” Dean calls over to the djinni. “You having fun?” he asks and bracing himself on the chair’s armrests, leans over to kiss the _‘I’m a clever shit’_ smile off his fiancé’s face.

“Dude! You win, you win!” Jo says over the stunned silence, leaning into Benny’s lips.

“Yeah, it’s not like I plan on sleeping without nightmares ever again. So, thanks for the mental torture.” Charlie groans.

“Hey, she started! I was just-“

“Okay, kids, looks like it’s time for the dancing girls…and boys.” Gabriel breaks in, announcing the evening’s next activity to the boisterous group, clapping his hands once, loudly.

The sudden appearance of several scantily clad men and women, writhing and grinding, hips swaying and groins gyrating, all perched atop an eight foot wide pedestal, complete with gleaming silver stripper pole, is met with gasps, that quickly turn into raucous cheers.

“Um, Gabe?” Sam leans down to whisper into the grinning djinni’s ear. “You don’t think it’s a bit…much?”

“Aww, come on Sammy, it’s a special occasion. Cassie’s getting hitched! The baby of the family has finally, _finally_ , found his mate. He’s happy and well…”

“Well?”

Gabriel’s beaming face clouds over, and lowering his head, says, “When Cassie was going to be married, the first time, we, me, I…I was a real dick about it. Sure I took off before he was imprisoned, but initially, I was all for it. I was on daddy and Michael’s side. I joined them in bullying him to get together with Meg. I, ah, wasn’t a very good brother.” He sighs sadly at the recollection.

“Now, though…now I’m gonna make up for it big time. My baby bro is going to have the best and biggest send-off. See that huge gummy smile?” he points out to Sam. “That’s Cassie’s _‘I’m so happy I’m gonna_ _pee myself’_ smile. My goal is to make sure that smile never leaves his face all night.”

Sam cradles the back of Gabriel’s head with one hand and cups his cheek with the other, thumb caressing the lightly stubbled skin. “And that right there, is why I love you.” he says softly, hazel eyes shining over with emotion. He tilts his head down and kisses the blushing djinni, tenderly; beaming happily when he sees the radiant smile he put back on his boyfriend’s handsome face.

…

The room erupts into a chorus of boos and hisses with the sudden change in appearance to all of the dancers.

“Cassie, not again!” Balthazar gripes. “Why do they all have to look like your fiancé? You know, there are some of us here that don’t think he’s the moon and stars.”

“Seriously, Dean’s cute, but he’s got all the wrong parts.” Charlie complains as well.

Castiel looks over to his pouting brother and glowering friends, one eye brow cocked high in recognition to their, as far as he’s concerned, unwarranted grievance. “Very well.”

“About bloody time!” Balthazar exhales dramatically and settling comfortably on his plush seat pats his lap, invitingly, to a beautiful dark haired siren (that looks nothing like Dean, _thankyouverymuch_ ) dancing next to him.

“Hate to say it, Cas, but I gotta side with Balthazar on this one.” the real Dean whispers against Castiel’s ear. “All of these Deans freak me out a little bit.” He confides, growling angrily when a pair dare to grind up against his grinning fiancé. Dean yanks the djinni against his side, wrapping an arm tightly around his waist, and snarls, “Beat it you two!”

Castiel laughs, thoroughly enjoying Dean’s flagrant display of jealousy. “But Master,” he says smile still large and toothy. “I love you so much that looking upon your visage makes me very happy. And since it’s my party, I’ll do as I please.” He ends defiantly.

Dean gawks at the djinni, rendered speechless by his cockiness. _'Or is he messing with me?_ '' He wonders, finding it endearing and just another thing to adore about Castiel.

…

The hour is late, or early, depending on which way you look at it. Everybody is sated and having a great time.

The dancers, still fully energized, try to outdo each other ensuring that everyone is well and properly ‘entertained’, and that every desire is met and fulfilled.

Except for Dean’s.

Castiel is quickly losing his patience. He’s counted six dancers, so far, that he’s had to chase away from his Master. Ever since Dean made sure that each and every dancer knew Castiel was off limits, it’s been game-on for the engaged Winchester. “Flee or die!” the djinni hisses for the umpteenth time.

“Scary much, baby?” Dean counters, immensely enjoying how the tables have turned. “You know, I’m the only one left kind of ‘lacking’ in satisfaction, if you know what I mean?” he insinuates, brows waggling obnoxiously.

Castiel fixes Dean with a glare. “And what exactly do you mean by “lacking”?” he air quotes eyes narrowed and calculating.

“Seriously? Whenever any of the dancers comes near me, you chase them away. Now who am I gonna get to give me my lap-dance?” he pouts reaching for the djinni with grabby hands.

Castiel takes a quick scan around the room. Satisfied that everyone is otherwise engaged and that they won’t be missed, for a short while at least, he grabs hold of Dean’s wrist and murmurs, “Let me see what I can do.”

When he releases his Master’s arm, Dean finds himself no longer sitting on his throne. Heck, he’s not even in the same room anymore. He looks around and in the dim light recognizes they’re in one of the guest bedrooms. The same room he slept in while he was pining miserably after his runaway djinni, to be exact.

But he doesn’t dwell on the irony for too long. The thumping beat of the loud music coupled with the steady rhythm of the overhead strobe lights, quickly heightens the sexually charged atmosphere of the scene unfolding in front of him.

Castiel, looking like a GOD, tall and intimidating as fuck, even though he’s mostly naked, with miles and miles of unblemished tanned skin that Dean knows and loves so well, is slowly swaying to the music’s rhythm; the image, breathtaking.

Dean moistens his lips, an unconscious gesture, a natural reflex. When his eyes land on the tiniest g-string he’s ever seen in his life, he has to stomp down the sudden urge to tear it off with his teeth. His struggle between the overwhelming desire to take and the monumental need to savor (to prolong the pleasure) leaves him panting and dizzy from the heavy weight of lust that’s growing steadily in his belly.

Like an angelic apparition, Castiel flashes in and out of sight, in sync with the tick of the blinking lights, body undulating seductively to the staccato beat of the music.

He dances slowly, each step casting a spell, movements fluid and graceful, body swaying sensuously as he makes his way closer to where Dean is sitting. When he reaches his Master, he stops, only inches separate them, eyes glowing and magnetic, locking briefly onto Dean’s.

But the spell lasts only a moment, broken the instant his tongue pokes out, pink and wet to run the whole course of his full mouth, leaving his plump lips, spit shiny. 

Letting the music's long melodic notes dictate his next steps, Castiel starts by sliding slowly from side to side, hips moving in enticing little circles, hands caressing down his sides, fingers spreading across his chest, pausing to play with his nipples, the dusky pink buds quickly turning red from the incessant pinching and tweaking. “Umph…” Castiel groans, lush bottom lip caught between his teeth, biting back a curse from the glorious sensations and the arousal he can feel burning across his body from Dean’s hungry stare.

“Fuck…” Dean sighs, voice a hoarse rasp, lowering his hand to palm at his rapidly filling erection.

Castiel’s eyes immediately zero in on the movement.

He slides closer, right into Dean’s personal space, long legs spreading wide to accommodate his lover’s splayed knees. He looks down, hooded eyes meeting Dean’s awe struck gaze, and with a change in the music’s tempo, starts rolling his hips faster to the melody’s sexier rhythm.

He reaches out and places one hand on his Master’s shoulder, hips punching in time with the tune’s percussion, groin thrusting temptingly towards Dean’s parted lips; the djinni’s thickening cock, barely contained in the tiny thong to begin with, is now in danger of spilling out thanks to the added twists and turns of his erotic routine.

Dean’s mouth falls open, flooding with water, transfixed by the hypnotic gyrations mere inches from his face, whimpering low and needy when the tip of the djinni’s cock peeks over the thong’s lace edge. He squirms in his chair, the image before him so pornographic, so dirty, he has no choice but to unzip his jeans and pull out his own dick before he creams his pants.

“Cas…” he moans. “Fucking gorgeous…” he exhales on a shaky breath, spreading the slickness at the tip and using it to take slow languid pulls on his own hard length.

The sight of his Master falling apart in front of him inspires Castiel’s next moves. He spins in place, slinking nearer, falling back, shimmying closer, provoking and tempting Dean with enticing little wiggles of his ass and the sensual roll of his hips, quickly jumping just out of reach whenever his Master reaches out to touch him.

He pauses in front of his lust-addled fiancé, body coated in a fine sheen of sweat from his exertions, and smirks, lips curling in satisfaction as he watches Dean watch him.

Dean stares (mind and body so wrapped up in the man before him, he couldn’t tear his eyes away if he tried) pupils dilated and blown wide with desire. Meanwhile, the low needy sounds falling from his lips mingle and blend with the throbbing music playing all around them, the pulsing beat adding to his cock’s pulsing ache.

He’s sprawled against his seat, slumped low, legs splayed obscenely wide exposing his dick, like an offering, to the djinni’s hooded gaze. With his fingers still wrapped loosely around the rigid length, teasing the tip with his thumb, gathering and rubbing the pearly liquid flowing freely from the slit, he strokes himself to full hardness, using long smooth twists of his wrist to take the edge off his imminent climax.

Castiel growls, timbre low and throaty, hungry. The gorgeous sight of his Master’s cock, beckons him, urging him to grab and taste.

His movements stutter and with another change to the music’s rhythm, he inches forward, sinuous movements highlighting the cut and curve of his lithe frame. Standing between the ‘V’ of his Master’s thighs, Castiel plants both hands firmly on his shoulders and resumes the provocative gyrations of his dance; his fingers dig into the tense muscles for support while the sensuous swaying of his hips seamlessly transition into sharp rapid snaps.

It’s all a whirl of motion now, manic and demanding, head whipping from side to side, neck corded and straining from the exaggerated back and forth arc. Bending at the waist, he throws his head back and arching his neck, invites Dean to lick or bite; he doesn’t care which, desperately needing to be touched.

“Cas-“ Dean groans, short of breath, pleading, ogling the feast in front of him. In his frenzy, the djinni, unwittingly freed the rest of his cock from the precarious sling of his thong, not that the diaphanous fabric did much in the way of restraining his girth, or obscuring his package, in the first place.

A series of small broken sounds, coming from Dean, draws Castiel’s attention. He follows his Master’s gaze, suddenly understanding his distress when he sees that his dick, completely unsheathed, is bobbing along from side to side, slapping lewdly against his hips. “Master…” he says, voice low and thick, half-cast eyes widening when Dean leans forward from his seat, tongue poking straight out, and licks the tip.

“Cas…” Dean sobs, mouthing the crown, voice edged with desperation, body wracked with shivers from that one tiny taste. “Baby...” He begs, exhaling a blast of moist heat against the glistening head, arms rising to grab the djinni and hold him in place, hands roaming possessively over Castiel’s body.

“Dean…” Castiel answers, saying his Master’s name like a warm caress, only to break out in soft laughter from Dean's protests when he backs away, placing his dick, frustratingly just out of reach. But, he quickly makes up for the cruel act when he lowers his head and kisses his lover, a heated press of lips that opens up quickly to the wet slide of tongues, passionate and promising satisfaction.

All too soon, Castiel breaks the kiss, much to Dean’s chagrin, and pulls away. But before his Master can voice his objection, he spins on the spot, ass to Dean’s face, and begins to twerk.

“!O_o!”

Dean gapes, jaw slack, tongue poking out to moisten his dry lips, thoroughly overwhelmed but incredibly delighted with his fiancé’s endless talents.

Entranced by the djinni’s sinful and tempting undulations, Dean grinds his ass against his seat and strips his dick with the loose grip of his fingers, his own movements unconsciously mirroring his lover’s mesmerizing undulations. It’s as if he’s under a charm, bewitched by Castiel’s magnetism and complete control over him.

A powerful spell where everything he’s ever wanted or ever needed is right there in front of him, contained in the bouncing globes of the djinni’s perfect ass. The way the muscular cheeks punch the air with frenetic snaps, aiming perfectly towards Dean’s fisted dick, has to be the hottest thing he’s ever seen.

Dean can’t think straight. Hell, if he’s being honest, he hasn’t been able to think straight since the moment he met Castiel.

_‘Fuck, he hasn’t even really touched me, yet!’_ he realizes with dismay. To have Castiel naked, dancing lewdly, in private and only for him, is overwhelming, to say the least.

Dean grabs the base of his shaft, the grip tight, almost painful, but it has to be or he risks cumming before they get to the really good part, the fucking.

_‘And there’s no way, in heaven or hell, heck even in Kaf, that Dean Winchester is not going to fuck that_ _sweet, sweet ass.’_ He vows.

Needing to act, to move, to touch and taste, and no longer caring to hold back, Dean raises his free hand and licks his palm. He pulls his arm back and with a considerable amount of strength behind it, slaps the djinni’s too tempting rear.

The loud crack and unexpected impact causes Castiel’s movements to stall and he shouts out in pain. But he quickly recovers and continues to dance, steps just as provocative, hips just as enticing, inching his way closer towards Dean, daring him to do it again.

Never one to back down from a dare, Dean eagerly obliges. “Like that, huh?”

CRACK!

“Y…yessss!” Castiel yelps, hissing through the sting.

CRACK, CRACK, CRACK!

The hits come fast, loud and hard, and Castiel can’t help but wince with each successive strike; strangled grunts wrenched from him as the abused skin becomes red and angry.

“Fuck, Cas…” Dean pants, easing up, tiring out, dick ready to burst, turning the next blow into a soothing caress, a cooling balm against the burning flesh.

“M…Master…” Castiel sobs when he feels the soft press of lips against the still tender skin.

Dean grabs the djinni firmly by the hips, motioning with his hands for him to bend over, exposing his backside completely to Dean’s ravenous gaze.

“Deeeen!” Castiel hisses in surprise when Dean dips his thumbs between the djinni’s cheeks and parts them gently. “Fuck!” he mewls when he feels the flat wet surface of his Master’s tongue pressing against his entrance, licking and lapping at the spasming pucker, leaving it thoroughly saturated.

“Argh!!” Castiel cries out, moaning and babbling, an incoherent mess, hips jerking back reflexively when the sharp point of Dean’s tongue breaches the tight opening.

Dean stabs and laves, tongue working fast and furious fucking his djinni’s hole. He opens Castiel further by spreading him with his fingers, and using the tips of his thumbs, increases the pressure on the tightly clenched muscle.

After spending a long delicious amount of time devouring his lover, Dean slows and finally stills. Pulling slightly away, he again uses the flat of his tongue, this time to lick a warm wet trail of saliva over the entire span of the djinni’s crevice.

Satisfied that he’s left his fiancé a sloppy mess, he takes one last gentle nip to the inside of each cheek and backs off completely, huffing a breathy laugh when he hears Castiel’s low whimpers from the loss. “Turn around.” Dean orders, voice so low and guttural, the words come out garbled, unintelligible.

Regardless of Dean’s croaked command, Castiel has no problem understanding his Master. Straightening, he turns to face Dean, dick painfully hard and pointing straight at his Master’s mouth.

“Mine!” Dean growls possessively and smirks, reaching with greedy hands to take Castiel forcibly by the hips so that he can press his face flush against the djinni’s belly. He lavishes the soft fragrant skin with kisses, mouthing his way towards his mouthwatering cock, pausing a beat to admire at its beauty.

_‘Fuck, yes!’_

Dean moans loudly, all inhibitions pushed aside, because he finally, finally gets to take Castiel into his mouth.

Starting at his balls, Dean licks a long line up the shaft’s underside, tongue running along the heavily pronounced vein. He suckles the head and pokes at the slit, humming with pleasure when a bead of pre-cum, he coaxed out of the crown, hits his tongue.

He lowers his hand to his lap, grabbing onto his aching dick to ease the pressure from his impending climax. He begins to jerk himself again, his pace slow and unhurried, winding his other arm around the djinni's ass to pull Castiel’s thong completely out of the way, exposing the wet cleft and pink pucker, dipping his fingers to delicately probe and prod, magically lubricating them before inserting a digit. 

Castiel’s hips stutter minutely at the intrusion, but he doesn’t pull away. Instead he takes Dean’s head gently between his hands and slowly begins to thrust in and out, setting a slow torturous pace, pausing only when Dean’s clever fingers find his prostate. “Fuck!” he gasps bucking so violently Dean splutters and gags around him, eyes watering as pools of saliva spill from the tight seal of his lips around Castiel’s cock.

The djinni pulls out and takes a small step back, spit shiny dick bobbing against Dean’s bottom lip. “Off.” he commands and using his magic, divests Dean of his clothes. He bends over, lips pressed against Dean’s, inhaling his Master’s excited gasps, and takes his dick from his grasp.

Castiel gets into position and with his Master’s dick still in his grip, straddles Dean’s lap, shaft lining up perfectly with his _more than ready entrance_ , sinking slowly onto it, breath hitching, lips parting, eyes glowing blue. 

The sensation of being inside the djinni is all-consuming. Dean’s only ever known this kind of heat with Castiel and is forever ruined for all others. Castiel’s ass is sinfully hot and tight, and the lust-addled fire coursing through Dean’s veins ratchet up, a hundred- fold, when the djinni begins to bounce.

Dean grabs Castiel’s hips, thumbs and fingers denting the firm flesh, sure to darken the bruises already there from their previous bout in bed. He tilts his head up for a kiss, grunting in approval when the djinni smashes their lips together, brutal clash of teeth and tongue, splitting the tender skin of their lips.

They work in tandem, Dean reaching between them to stroke Castiel to completion, accelerating his pace to match the djinni’s frantic bucking. “Come on, baby…so fucking close…” Dean pants rubbing the djinni’s free flowing pre-cum over the highly sensitive head.

“Dean…” Castiel moans, so wreaked he can barely speak. He impales himself, forcibly, a dozen more times onto Dean’s rock hard dick and spills, thick ropes of cum painting their stomachs, coating Dean’s hand.

“Casss…”Dean cries out and orgasms, surging forward to capture Castiel’s lips, swallowing his moans and stealing his breath.

...

They kiss and kiss, deep and passionate, tongues hot, wet, and messy, caressing well-traveled territory, neither willing nor able to stop.

“Dean, Cas?”

“Mmm…Master…” Castiel says softly between kisses, the loud voices just outside their door waking him from his stupor.

“Hmm…” Dean sighs; hands rising to cradle Castiel’s face, moving from the djinni’s kiss swollen lips to mouth at the sharp curve of his jaw.

“Yo! Guys!”

“I…ah, think we’re being summoned.” Castiel alerts him, working his hands over Dean’s back, gently massaging the smooth expanse of sweat tacky skin.

“Mmm…” Dean hums. “I didn’t hear anything.” He lies, enjoying their post orgasm cuddling too much to stop just because they’re expected to attend their own party. _The nerve of some people._

Loud banging on the door finally cools the passion of their post coital nuzzling.

“Look, we know you’re in there. You’ve got five minutes to come back to _your_ party or we’re bringing the party to you. Okay!” shouts Sam, stern voice delivering the ultimatum.

“Yeah, yeah, be right out!” Dean yells back. “Geesh, some people. Hey, what happened to making it your life’s mission that we not be disturbed ever again?” he reminds Castiel.

“Well…” Castiel starts, shifting slightly to adjust his position on Dean’s lap, breath catching when his Master’s spent dick eases out. “Uh…technically…ahhh…we, we’re done. And...” he continues in a steadier voice. “We _are_ being rude. So, I believe in this case, I’ll make an exception.”

Dean throws his head back and huffs in defeat, wiggling in his seat when he feels a trail of warm cum, leaking from Castiel's hole, ooze between his crotch.

_‘Fuck, that’s hot!’_

“Fine, okay.” He replies irritably, not at all surprised when his dick twitches with interest from the cloying semen pooling over his groin. “But, we’re picking this back up when we get home.” He stipulates, bucking his hips to show the djinni just how serious he is.

…

“Where the heck were you two? You still have to cut the cake.” Charlie lets them know. She stops short, eyes widening in sudden understanding, when she gets within a foot of the pair. “Damn you two! You reek of sex!” she gags. “You guys are like freaking bunnies!”

“Yeah, seriously bro, it’s like ever since you and Cas got together your raging libido’s gone into over drive.” Sam helpfully observes.

“Ha-ha, Sam. Very fucking droll. But for your information, Cas and I share a very healthy and…acrobatic sexlife.”

“Dean…”

“I’m not apologizing for our epic love, Cas. If Sam-“

“Dean, I’m not accusing you of anything. I’m just-“ Sam starts to say.

“Save it for later you two, I want cake!” Charlie, totally fed up with their bullshit, shouts.

…

Sam stands tall and proud, champagne glass held high, waiting for everyone to silence and give him their undivided attention. Standing on the dancer’s stage, flanked by Gabriel and Balthazar, he starts.

“I just wanted to say how happy I am for you guys. Cas,” he gestures towards the seated djinni with his glass. “Dude, thanks. I mean, there is absolutely no one, no body, out there that is more perfect for Dean. You’re patient and strong. You don’t take any of his crap and you call him out on all his bullshit-“

“Hey!” Dean snaps.

“You’re a friggin angel. Cas,” Sam continues, ignoring his brother’s interruption. “And I couldn’t hope for anybody that I trust more with the welfare and well-being of my big brother.”

“Dean,” to everybody’s surprise, Gabriel speaks. “Look, I’ve always…well liked you. I always knew that you were a special man. But I gotta admit, there were a few times when I didn’t believe you were special enough for my brother. But you’ve proven me wrong and I couldn’t be happier.” he confesses, uncharacteristically candid and sincere.

“So, I thank you, on behalf of myself and my brother's. We know, without a doubt that Cassie is finally where he belongs. I raise my glass to you, bidding adieu to your bachelorhood-“

“And your balls!” Balthazar adds with a smirk.

“Hmph, seems to me like Cas’ been holding onto Dean’s sac since day one.” Jo throws in with a triumphant laugh.

“Fuck you very much, Jo!” Dean throws her way.

“Everybody,” Sam calls out loudly. “To Dean and Castiel! May your friendship grow and be a constant source of support, and your love continue to nurture and offer comfort! Love you guys! Cheers!”

“CHEERS!” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kali-Shula Al Hashim translates to Kali the Flame Crusher


	22. Epilogue-Part two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He turns his face towards the water’s spray, sudsy hand snaking down his torso, dick filling to half-mast, anticipating their date. “Mmmm, Cas…” he hums, but he doesn’t touch himself, not yet. He’s holding out for the main event, when he’ll finally get to have his beautiful fiancé just where he wants him: spread out on their bed, or bent over the couch, perhaps on all fours on the dining room table, or slick and soapy in the tub.
> 
> Yeah, Dean fucking misses Castiel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nearing the home stretch. Nxt week's chapter will be the final one.  
> Whew! Here's an extra long ep for you!  
> Hope you enjoy and thanks for reading!!

**Dean and Castiel’s house:** two weeks until the wedding

Dean drives back from the gym, probably faster than he should, but heck, if the cops do stop him, he’ll just conveniently let slip how he’s a bona fide NASA hero. Probably get asked for a few autographs before they send him on his merry way.

He supposes he could have just blinked himself there and back. But he’s currently training with some very young, very hard-core recruits that don’t know anything about the djinn or the supernatural world, and that’s how he and his team intend to keep it.

His luck holds out and he makes it back to his place without so much as a red light slowing him down. He pulls into the driveway and parks, but doesn’t bother getting out of his car. Instead, he blinks and finds himself immediately under the blissfully hot spray of his shower.

He’s full of nervous energy and hopes the force and heat from the powerful water pressure, sluicing down his back, loosens the tension he’s been carrying for the past few days. It’s the reason he made sure he’s home early, wanting ample time to clean up and prep for a rare evening alone with Castiel.

Dean finds it amusing, as well as frustrating, that ever since their combined bachelor/bridal party, they’ve been non-stop, thrust into a whirlwind of activity, from more celebratory dinners with friends or family, to spending too much time apart because of their duties.

Dean’s extended hours at NASA to fulfill his heightened responsibilities and Castiel’s frequent trips abroad to attend meetings in Oman, leaves the frustrated couple very little time to devote to one another.

Oh, and then there’s the wedding they still have to plan and all of the demands that come with that monumental endeavor.

So he rushes through his shower, because the sooner he's done, then the sooner he can begin preparing a wonderful meal for Castiel (all made by hand _thankyouverymuch_ ) because he's definitely worth the added effort.

He turns his face towards the water’s spray, sudsy hand snaking down his torso, dick filling to half-mast, anticipating their date. “Mmmm, Cas…” he hums, but he doesn’t touch himself, not yet. He’s holding out for the main event, when he’ll finally get to have his beautiful fiancé just where he wants him: spread out on their bed, or bent over the couch, perhaps on all fours on the dining room table, or slick and soapy in the tub.

Yeah, Dean fucking misses Castiel.

Fifteen minutes later, after a _very_ thorough cleaning, a _very_ frustrated Dean stands in his bedroom wrapped in his favorite terry robe, staring down bemusedly as his stubborn dick tents obscenely against the plush material. Ignoring the dull ache between his legs, he towels his hair dry and blinks, smiling when his magic fills the room with the sweet notes of Zeppelin. He’s singing along with Plant on ‘All of my love’, when a noise from below, stops him in his tracks.

“Cas?” he calls through the open door. But it can’t be Castiel. The djinni isn’t due for another two hours. Unless…

The suspicious bumps and shuffling from the lower level spur him into action. He blinks himself into the kitchen, cracks open the swinging door and peeks out into the living room. “Christ, not again.” he sighs tiredly and walks out.

“Balthazar, what the hell’s going on?” he demands, blinking back into his t-shirt and jeans, erection completely waning thanks to the blonde djinni’s sudden appearance.

“Hello to you too, my dear future-brother-in-law.” Balthazar replies around a forced smile. “Just thought I’d stop by for a bit of a visit. See how you and Cassie are doing.”

“Dude, you were just over for dinner last night.” Dean reminds him, eager to get to the bottom of this unexpected and unwanted visit and back to his evening’s previous preparations. “And who the hell is this?” he snaps, not caring that he’s coming off as rude and brusque; anxiety getting the better of him when he notices Balthazar’s current boy-toy staring back at him with unnerving intensity.

“Charming to the end, as expected.” Balthazar sneers. “Fine then.” He sighs and turns to the very attractive dark haired man standing next to him, his pale grey eyes never breaking from Dean’s obvious glower. “I’d like to introduce you to my brother, and our patriarch, Michael Al Faysal-Saifullah, or if you prefer, Hajji’s sword.”

…

Dean stares, at a loss for words, mind reeling at the possible implications.

“Dean…” Michael says gently, tongue curling covetously around the one syllable, bowing his head in reverence. “It’s a great honor.” He says quietly as if addressing an easily spooked animal or a skittish thoroughbred, which just so happens to be the way Dean feels under the elder Marid’s unwavering gaze.

A loud cough from Balthazar snaps Dean back to the present.

“Ah…Michael?” Dean asks tentatively. “ _The_ Michael?” he questions again, plowing on when Balthazar nods in confirmation. “Dude, where the hell have you been?” he asks, voice harsher than he intended, but fuck it, he’s pissed and a little put out by the djinni’s sudden appearance. Especially now, when all the Marid have finally learned to move past the idea of an all-powerful djinni running their lives. So before he can think better on it, or be put off by the uncomfortable staring, he presses further.

“You know, we coulda used your help about eight months ago. Like when we were trying to stop a war.” He points out, tone bitter and resentful. “When your less powerful brothers united with the other less powerful tribes and together took out the ‘Big Bad’, the Shaitan and Ghul. Balthazar fill you in on any of that?”

Balthazar tsks and shakes his head, but doesn’t contradict him.

Dean easily sees the shift in the djinni’s disposition from one moment to the next. From barely concealed ‘sexual’ interest towards him, to downcast and shamed. He snorts, satisfied that he was the one to deliver the verbal beating that put the dark expression on his handsome face.

_‘Damn good genes in that friggin family.’_ Dean can’t help but note.

The Marid looks from Balthazar back to Dean, eyes piercing, gaze steady, his shapely lips sealed tight. He steps away from Balthazar and walks right up to Dean. Lowering his head, he looks up through dark lashes and offers him a tentative half-smile.

_‘Great, no concept of personal space, either.’_ Dean observes but stands his ground, doing his best to ignore the uncomfortable way his skin seizes up from the djinni’s proximity.

“Dean,” Michael begins, voice clear and confident. “I will forever regret the pain I put my family through. For abandoning them when they needed me most, for not being by their side during battle. But I’m back now, and I want to make amends.” He looks back to Balthazar, small-relieved smile when Balthazar nods in approval.

“Okay, so you’re sorry. But why come back now?” Dean asks his voice unusually thick but his stance defensive. “I hate to say it, but if you’re only here to climb back on your throne and tell everyone what to do,” he says, taking a step back. “Well, you’re in for a nasty reality check, because while you were away-“

“Enough, Dean.” Balthazar cuts in, moving to place himself between his brother and his friend, the obvious tension steadily growing between the two, makes _even him_ , uncomfortable. “Michael intends no such thing, isn’t that right, brother?” he asks turning to Michael, eyes narrowed and wary.

“No…no such thing.” Michael answers, eyes still locked onto the human’s. “My foolish pride and very bad council led me astray all those years ago. I have…matured. I will return to Oman and ask if I may join the council set up by you and my brothers’, and ask if I may help in the reconstituting of our realms.” He extends his hand, stretching past Balthazar’s body, and offers it to Dean.

Dean reluctantly takes it and lets the Marid cover it with both of his, body tingling unpleasantly from the incompatible energy that passes between them at the point of contact. “Yeah, guess that sounds okay. Bal?” he says, trying his best to keep from snatching his hand back and out of Michael’s grip.

“I have a feeling, Michael dear, that your welcome will be warmer than you suspect, or deserve, from most of us...” Balthazar replies but doesn’t elaborate, ignoring Dean’s obvious discomfort.

“I can only hope and do my best, by all of you.” Michael states, hand still firmly holding onto Dean’s and takes a step closer.

“A…great, yeah, um, I’m sure Cas and Gabe and all the rest will be happy you’re back, I guess.” Dean stammers, testing the Marid’s hold by trying to pull his hand away. “But why show up here?” he asks, pushing for casual when Michael’s grip gets tighter.

“Why indeed.” Michael replies squeezing Dean’s hand firmly and shaking it gently, one, two, pumps, finally loosening his hold, fingers dragging from palm to tips until he lets go, and unbelievingly offers Dean a wide interested smile.

“I came here because I wanted to meet the man that rescued my brother, the only man that could have. But now that I have met you,” he says in a low confidential tone, head leaning towards Dean’s cheek, whispering in his ear. “I can’t help but feel that perhaps I have been without a Master of my own, for far too long.” He admits, pulling his head back to gauge Dean’s reaction.

Dean stars back dumbly, completely thrown for a loop, because, _what the fuck_? All snarky come-backs, from telling the douche-bag to get in line if he wants a piece of Dean’s delectable ass, to he’s a one man, man now, fly out the window in the face of Michael’s shameless flirting. But even though his brain refuses to help him out, Dean still manages to get his legs to move, taking a large step back and putting some much needed distance between himself and the creepy djinni.

“I think, brother, that it would behoove you to keep that particular bit of disturbing information from our Castiel. Oh, and I suggest you modify your inappropriate behavior towards Dean once he gets here.” Balthazar advises, stepping in and putting an end to Michael’s singular focus on the extremely uncomfortable astronaut. “You see, he’s rather jealous, insanely so, and possessive too, when it comes to _his_ Master.”

Michael looks down, finally releasing Dean from the intensity of his gaze.

“Please excuse my bluntness, Dean…” he quickly apologizes. “It has been a very long time for me…” he says also taking a step back. When he looks up, he’s struck again by the confusing wave of ‘ _want’,_ _‘need’_ , and _‘desire_ ', he’s felt since the first moment he laid eyes on the gorgeous astronaut.

But it’s not just the physical; the urge to _possess _Dean hit him like a wrecking ball when they first met. No, it’s the disturbing sense of oneness. As if he and Dean are made from the same cloth, the astronaut crafted from his very being. An insane notion, yes, but he can’t shake the feeling that he inadvertently bestowed a part of his ‘djinn’ essence when he joined ‘cardinally’ with the human’s antecessors. The realization leaves him dizzy, addled, his body hungry and demanding, emotions he hasn’t experienced since…__

_Lucifer_

He visibly shivers, shaking himself to clear his head from the dangerous direction in which his thoughts were straying, exhaling sharply in frustration when he’s no closer to understanding why this human affects him so powerfully.

He turns his focus back on the Marid, now that he’s returned he’s eager to right his wrongs. Centuries of distancing himself while he catered to his own selfish needs, chasing after his only priority with an all-consuming obsession, Lucifer, left him empty, lonely and humbled.

Now all he wants, more than anything, is to reconcile with his siblings, especially Castiel. And kidnapping his Master, he knows, is definitely not the way to go about it.

So he steels himself, turning his back on his riotous emotions to face the future he desperately longs for, one where he hopes to be free from torment and at peace with his brothers. He moves closer to Balthazar, close enough for their shoulders to brush and gaining courage from the minute contact, says, “The reason for my visit, Dean, is to plead my case to you and my people, and to offer my, ah…services.”

_‘Oh hells no!'_ Dean wants to shout. He and Cas may be into some kinky shit, being more open minded than most, but he absolutely draws the line at fucking around with his fiancé’s creepy older brother.

“Ah, wh-what kind of offer?” he croaks.

Michael cants his head and smiles, charmed by the deep blush climbing high on the human’s cheeks. “My offer is, if you’ll allow it, to perform your ceremony.” He answers, finally revealing the most important reason for his visit. “Please Dean, may I officiate at your wedding.”

…

“Mmmm, these peonies are beautiful.” Castiel hums inhaling deeply from the large bouquet of ombre pink blooms in his hands. “Yes, these will do. Please arrange for the agreed number to ship the morning of the twenty-seventh.” He instructs the florist.

“Okay, are we done here, yet? I wanna go try the cake samples, already.” Gabriel whines petulantly.

“We ate like half an hour ago.” Jo scolds. “Besides, there may not be enough for all of us. Ladies first, as the saying goes.”

Gabriel scowls at the tiny blonde, completely unamused, and blinks. “Mmm, mmm, mmm…” he moans exaggeratedly, digging with great relish into a three-tier ice-cream cone.

Jo smirks and sticks out her tongue. “A moment on the lips, you know, forever on the hips...” she teases. The unfortunate crack, however, gets her a mouthful of ice cream and headache to match. “Ow!” she yelps as her brain freezes.

“You’re messing with the big leagues, kid-o.” Gabriel taunts but quickly feels sorry. He reaches over and places his hand on Jo’s cheek, and blinks. “Better, sweetie?” he asks truly repentant.

Jo glowers angrily, but reaches to cover Gabriel’s hand with her own. “You’re lucky I love you, jerk!”

At the other end of the large flower shop, Castiel finishes paying at the register with his brand new credit card, broad smile gracing his face when he signs his signature on the screen’s display.

_Castiel Winchester_

The butterflies that flit and flutter against his ribs only add to the tickling sensation and building anticipation for tonight’s long overdue ‘quality-time’ that he and Dean desperately need.

“We need to move this along.” He announces turning back to his shopping companions.

“Why are _you_ in such a rush?” Gabriel asks with an all knowing smirk.

“I have to be home in…” Castiel checks his watch and looking back up says, “Two hours. So, Gabriel, if you want to try that cake, I suggest you stop playing your tricks and help me with our next stop. Or, we’ll run late, and I’ll have to reschedule the cake-tasting for another day.”

“Wait,” Charlie interrupts. “I thought our next stop _was_ the bakery.”

Castiel looks over to the pretty redhead. “My apologies, Charlie, first I have to go pick up my Mas-, I mean Dean’s, wedding gift.” He corrects, cheeks flushing from the intimacy of using his Master's given name. “It’s a Marid custom to gift their mates their own bottle. And where we’re going, I’ll need Gabriel’s help to insure your and Joanna-Beth’s safety.” He clarifies.

“Ah, sure…, yeah, no prob, ‘cause that doesn’t sound all sorts of ominous.” She replies casually, given the djinni’s cryptic tone.

“Whoa, wait. Didn’t we banish dear ole uncle Zach in Dean’s bottle?” Gabriel interjects

“Yes.”

Gabriel’s eyebrows shoot up in disbelief. “So…care to elaborate?”

“Brother, of course I’m not gifting Dean the horrible contraption Zachariah conjured.” Castiel snaps. “I have asked Joshua to create a new one for my future husband, of my own design.” He explains. “Really, how can you be so daft?”

Gabriel clutches at his chest with both hands and grunts. “Oh, how you wound me!” He cries with mock-offense. “Okay then, guess we better get going. Joshua’s place isn’t exactly across the road. Take my hand pretty lady.” He says to Jo, and when Castiel does the same with Charlie, they nod and vanish.

...

“Castiel, my dear boy!” an elderly pleasant looking djinni says in greeting. “And, Gabriel!” he exclaims delightedly upon seeing the other Marid. “I understand why Castiel has been away.” he tuts. “But why have you not visited me sooner?” he admonishes. “That bottle you requested over a decade ago has been collecting dust.” He confides in a hushed tone.

Joshua regards the djinni with a rueful smile, patting him good-naturedly on the arm, before turning and walking back to his workstation.

His desk is an enormous sleek slab of black granite, marbled beautifully throughout with red veins. The entire surface is covered with an array of metal tools and containers varying in shapes and sizes, all frothing over with potions. The scene would be unsettling if it weren’t for the enormous domed sky light overhead, bathing the entire space in radiant sunlight.

The old djinni looks up from his desk and smiles warmly, the effect would be welcoming if it weren’t for the plants and fauna that cover every inch of the walls directly behind him; all bending towards the visitors, swaying eerily of their own accord and calling out to them, a hushed rustle-whisper, urging them to move closer. The end result, downright disturbing.

“Please, sit.” Joshua says to his guests, gesturing with a wave of his hand to the row of seats he blinked into the room for their comfort. “Now, where were we…oh yes, Gabriel, about your bottle-“

Gabriel, to everyone’s surprise fish-mouths, sputtering for a long moment, searching for the right words that will satisfy Joshua’s curiosity and take the perplexed looks off his friends’ faces.

“Wait a sec, you ordered a bottle over ten years ago?” Jo asks, breaking the awkward silence. “Isn’t that around the same time you met Sam?”

“Pffst, na…no. Um, hey Josh, how about Cassie’s bottle?” Gabriel dodges.

“No, Jo’s right. I specifically remember Sam writing to us about you.” Charlie recollects. “Like eleven, twelve years ago, right? Anyway, the poor dope went on and on about how cool you were and how we would all love you as much as he did...” She says, sharing what she remembers with all of them, to Gabriel’s great discomfort.

“Brother, if you asked Joshua to create a bottle for your Master, then why haven’t you presented it to him?” Castiel asks curious, brows knit in confusion.

“Oh my god! That is so romantic! You’ve been in-love with Sam since day one, haven’t you? Pining and all lovelorn since the day you met him and he didn’t ev-” Jo rambles, voice high-pitched and excited.

Gabriel drops his eyes and exhales a long tired sigh. “That’s also the year Dean went missing.” He cuts in, pointing out the dire circumstances of that dreadful time. “The same year Sam turned to his _girlfriend_ , Jess, for comfort.” He recalls sadly. “And the year I left his side because I couldn’t stand the pain he was going through…not exactly the perfect time to declare my undying love.”

Charlie harrumphs. “Yeah, that was _also_ the same year Sam almost lost it because not only was his brother missing, but his best friend too. It almost killed him when you took off and volunteered to throw yourself into the lion’s den, you dumb-ass!” Charlie says heatedly. “He and Jess broke up, like a week after you left.” She enlightens the djinni, tone softening, laced with sympathy when she sees Gabriel’s downcast pout. “Jess tried, she really did, but, nothing she did, helped. After you took off, Sam became a freaking mess.”

Castiel looks between his silent brooding brother and Charlie’s hopeful expression, frown deepening in concentration. “I’m still not sure why you haven’t given Sam the bottle you prepared for him. Are you and he unsure of your-“

“Hey, we’re here for you and Dean, right?” Gabriel interrupts, wanting nothing more than to change the subject. “And I’ve got my mind and stomach set on a cake-tasting extravaganza. So…can we move this along?” he pleads, parroting Castiel’s earlier request while trying desperately to steer the conversation and focus off of himself and his pathetic insecurities.

They all stop pestering Gabriel after that, each silently deciding to confront him at a later and more appropriate time about his reluctance to make the ultimate commitment with Sam.

“My dear djinni, my establishment is not a storage facility.” Joshua, however, adds. “You have one year. Just one, and if by that time, you have not come back for your bottle, then I will destroy it and return its magic to Kaf.” He warns.

Gabriel is stunned silent again by Joshua’s threat, but before he can defend his position, Castiel speaks on his behalf.

“Gabriel will be back and much sooner than you think, isn’t that so, brother?”

“Ah…yeah, guess I gotta, now.” he agrees grudgingly, although his body thrums with excitement over the possibility that by this time next year, he and Sam might be wed. “I think I’m gonna be sick.” He declares dramatically and swoons into Jo’s arms.

“Good god, you’re such a drama queen!”

Castiel’s done, patience at an end for Gabriel’s puzzling behavior. He turns to the older djinni and holding his palm out says, “Joshua, my bottle, please.”

“Yes, of course.” Joshua replies and blinking once holds out his hand, palm open, face up, with Dean’s gleaming bottle perched on the weathered surface. “Here you go, young lord, just as you requested, with both of your birth dates as well as coordinates, family lineage, and Kaf signs etched onto its golden surface.” He says, rattling off the details with barely contained awe, and taking a step closer, hands over the slim twenty-inch bottle.

“I must say,” he continues. “I truly believe this bottle to be my greatest work. There will never be another of its kind, and only one will ever be able wield it. No matter in whose hands it may fall, only you, Castiel, will be its Master. The bottle will forever _only_ answer to you.”

“Whoa, hold on there, big boy.” Jo cries out, reaching out and taking a hold of Castiel’s arm. “You know there’s no way Dean’s gonna go for that. I mean, hello, have you even met Dean?” she squawks.

Charlie looks nervously between Castiel and Jo, waiting a beat before speaking. “Ah, yeah Cas, Dean’s not the type to be too agreeable about somebody else deciding his fate, or his life’s trajectory or what tomorrow’s gonna bring or even what cereal to purchase…” she mutters, voice trailing off in the end.

Castiel turns to his two distraught friends, perturbed by their reactions to his magnanimous gift. And then it dawns on him. ( _Dean, beautiful, stubborn, strong willed, Dean will refuse his gift, fight tooth_ _and nail against it and what it implies. Especially if his free will is in anyway comprised._ ) But Castiel’s main purpose has always been and always will be to protect him. And the bottle guarantees that.

“You misunderstand my intentions.” he says, attention focused squarely on his two friends. “This gift…this bottle assures that Dean will never fall prey to another power, or to the mercy of another djinni.” He clarifies. But then lowers his head, face heating up when he considers the enormous impact his gift will truly have on Dean and on himself. Because, in order for the magic to adhere, for the bottle to be Dean’s ultimate protection, it has to have an owner, a source, and that‘s Castiel.

“I will never harm him.” He vows, voice gruff with determination. “Or hold my will over his. He’s a free man, free to do as he pleases. And this bottle…” he holds up the beautiful golden obelisk for them to admire. “This bottle will safeguard his freedom.”

“Well, I’m just saying, make sure you tell Dean all that other stuff about being his own man before you drop that ‘ _bottle solely answers to me!_ ’ bombshell.” Jo consoles wisely.

“I fully intend to inform Dean of all the facts pertaining to his bottle.” Castiel replies icily, offended by her insinuation that he would hide anything from his Master. “The gifting of a bottle to a djinni’s Master on his wedding day is a long standing sacred tradition for the Marid. Especially since so many Masters refuse that final commitment to their djinni’s.” he pauses to let this new information sink in.

“The gesture is usually a symbolic one, but not in Dean’s case.” He continues. “You see, during our brief history together, Dean has become more djinni than human, and that means there’s a real danger that someday a djinni, more powerful than myself, may come along and claim him as their own.

"Of course…” he continues casually, looking down at his fingernails as if he's about to discuss the weather, or what he had for breakfast. “They would have to kill me first,” his tone changes from nonchalant to low and dangerous. “For only then would they stand a chance against my will and desire to protect what is mine.” he tells them, the rumble of his voice making the small hairs on the back of their necks stand on end while the air around them crackles.

Gabriel whistles long and loud, breaking the tension left over from Castiel’s passionate speech.

“Geesh bro, don’t get your panties all in a twist. We’re only trying to make sure that you and Dean-o don’t say or do anything too stupid between now and the wedding. Don’t want anything unexpected mucking up our plans. ‘Cause I already paid the caterers, and don’t forget how all our people are coming from way outta town. But most importantly,” he adds, batting his eyelashes coquettishly, hand fanning his face. “I finally get to be the blushing maid of honor. So, zip it, take your bottle, say good-bye to Josh and let’s go get us some cake!”

…

“Master!” Castiel calls out when he appears in their bedroom. “Dean?” he tries again when he doesn’t get an immediate reply. He knows Dean’s in the house, can feel him like a physical weight, and is about to zap downstairs when Dean appears before him.

“Baby!” he says with a big smile, grabbing Castiel by the waist and hauling him in for a kiss and a hug. “Sorry, I didn’t hear you.”

Castiel cants his head and smiles back. “That’s alright, Master. I wondered if perhaps you changed the setting for our rendezvous.”

“No, I mean, yeah.” Dean stammers but rushes to clarify when Castiel’s furrowed brow joins the tilt of his head. “Yeah, you were supposed to meet me here. But, ah, well, there’s been a change of plans.”

“No.” Castiel states simply, smooth as honey. “We are not ‘hanging’ out with anybody else tonight. I have waited anxiously to be alone with you for days, and I won’t be denied.” He states pressing closer to Dean.

“Anyone that dares stand in the way of our needs," kiss. "Of our naked bodies," kiss. "Of my mouth tasting you, licking and biting you," tongue this time. "Swallowing you while we…fuck,” he swears low and throaty, the words floating on a heated whisper right into Dean’s gaping mouth. “Will suffer dire consequences.” He growls, the low timbre of his voice and the matter-of-fact dirty talk, along with the impromptu tongue fucking, shoot straight to Dean’s dick.

Dean smirks and nods, because, yeah, he can totally get on board with that.

“Cas,” he says on a long exhale, leaning in for another heated kiss, hand resting on the swell of the djinni’s perfect ass. “I, ah,  think you’ll make an exception after you find out who’s waiting for you downstairs.”

“I don’t care. There’s no one and nothing that is more important right now than our needs. I’m not interes-“

“Cas, it’s Michael.”

The shocking statement derails Castiel’s train of thought and instantly silences him mid-rant.

…

“Get out!” Castiel snarls through clenched teeth, arm pointing towards the door.

Michael flinches. “Please, brother, hear me out.”

Castiel snorts, an ugly wounded sound. “You cannot be serious. Hear you out?” he sneers, face contorted with disgust. “How? The same way you heard me out when I begged that you not force me to marry that monster. Or, the way you listened when Jeannie begged to be released from her contract with that demon? Or is your memory as faulty as your familial loyalty that you need me to refresh it, brother?” he spits, words full of acid.

“Castiel, I have-“

“Quiet!" Castiel snaps and the room quakes. “You chose to ignore me when last we spoke. But now you’re in my house and I am much, much stronger. I will have my say, and you will hear me.” he orders, voice low and dangerous, menacing, chest heaving from pent up fury and pain.

He walks right up to his brother, bright blue boring into pale grey, searching, pleading. “You turned your back on her, on me, ignoring our cries and sentencing us to thousands of years in prison.” Castiel accuses, speaking so low and heated, the words come out more like a hiss. “How…how could you?” he asks again and suddenly exhausted steps back into Dean’s waiting arms.

They all stand around in stunned silence, shell-shocked, rendered mute by Castiel’s verbal attack on his thunderstruck brother.

Michael knew Castiel would be furious but he’s repentant and wants to explain the reasons behind his foolish past decisions.

“Castiel,” he says eager to break the deafening silence pressing down all around him. “Everything you have said is true. I know I have erred, gravely. I have dishonored our family and myself with my pride. I am ashamed of my behavior and the actions from those long ago days. I will not ask your forgiveness, brother, because I cannot even fathom forgiving myself. But I do ask, beg, that you try to understand why I committed those crimes.”

Balthazar speaks up then, moving to stand next to and Castiel. “Cassie,” he says softly. “Listen to what he has to say.” He advises. “And then, if you wish it, I will personally escort him out of your life forever.” He promises.

Castiel digs blunt nails into the soft flesh of Dean’s hip where his hand has been nervously clutching and bunching the fabric of his t-shirt. He exhales a long weary breath, eyes wide, searching his oldest brother’s face for answers to his countless betrayals.

When he speaks, the words come out halting, broken, much like his heart. “Why did you so easily agree to sacrifice me to the Shaitan? I thought you loved me, as…as I loved you. There…that’s the only question I want answered.”

_‘For now.’_

Because he needs to know everything.

For thousands of years, Castiel languished in solitude and misery, wondering how his brother, eldest and dearest to him, could betray and abandon him to such a cruel fate. He wants to ask about Hajji, if he’s seen him and if he knows why their father, too, vanished from their lives without a word.

He aches to know the whereabouts of his other beloved brother, Lucifer, where he fled to and how they can get him back. Only Michael knows the answers but Castiel can only stomach to ask about his own past sufferings.

Dean’s hold around Castiel’s waist tightens. He lays his hand over the djinni’s and entwines their fingers in an effort to calm and ground his devastated fiancé.

Michael smiles at the gesture, even though his heart is breaking. But the pain of hurting his brother is now joined with an ache for his human, an odd loss for something that was never his to begin with.

Michael looks away from the pair, only for a moment, in order to clear his head.

He likes this human, a disproportionally large amount, considering they just met. But he _belongs_ to Castiel, and that in itself is reason enough for Michael to tuck this realization deep and far away, never to see the cruel scrutinizing light of day.

So he pushes past his disquieting feelings, since he has no intention to ever act on them, and instead takes comfort in the fact that not all of his past actions ended as grave mistakes. Because even after so brief a meeting, he knows, deep down to his trembling core, that Dean Winchester will do anything and everything for Castiel.

He’s as sure of that fact today as he was two thousand years ago when he, on Hajji’s command, set in motion the chain of events and circumstances that would guarantee the union of John Winchester and Mary Campbell. A union made inevitable, thanks to the Marid. And through John and Mary’s great love, birth the one being worthy enough to wield Castiel’s bottle and capture his heart.

He stares at them silently for a moment longer, lining up the words that will, if all goes well, expunge his reputation of all his past crimes and the harm they’ve wrought.

So with one long drawn out sigh, he finally says, “I think it’s best if I start at the beginning.”

…

They listen, attention rapt, as Michael recounts the numerous events that led to his and Hajji’s decision to merge the Marid clan with that of the increasingly expanding Shaitan, for nothing more than to ensure that the Shaitan remain forever under Hajji’s strict control.

He describes Hajji’s fury when both Jeannie and Castiel defied him. How, in his wrath, he impulsively and irrationally condemned them to an eternity in their bottles, only to repent as soon as the orders were carried out.

Michael goes on to explain how in his distress Hajji ordered him, his strongest and most powerful soldier who as first born wields the purest form of the Marid’s magic, to seek out two powerful and noble lineages, ones he deemed most compatible to the Marid.

Michael searched for an age, but he finally found them, two separate clans, enlightened amidst the barbarians of their day. Those just and fierce humans became the Winchester's and the Campbell's. Michael was thoroughly enchanted by them. And before he completed his mission, to ensure that their paths intersect in the same century that Castiel’s sentence was due to end, his admiration turned intimate.

Reflecting on that long ago time, he fears he may have indulged his sexual appetite too heavily, perhaps leaving the human's with more than just a fleeting memory of a magical being living amongst them and loving them freely. Perhaps endowing them with his own potent magic. It would certainly help to explain the ‘familiarity’ he feels towards Dean. His baffling desire to unite with him, claim him, because in a way Dean is _his_...

_‘Enough.’_ He tells himself, done with these useless and dangerous emotions, reminding himself, again, of his precarious position amongst his own people and of Castiel’s volatile temper. The powerful surge of power that slammed into him when Castiel first stormed into the room is incentive enough for him to behave and control his actions around Dean.

“And Jeannie?” Castiel says in a low sad voice, oblivious to Michael’s internal struggles.

“Don’t fear for Jeannie, brother, I carried out Hajji’s wishes for her Master’s lineage as well. Anthony Nelson was also a product of the Marid’s design.” He manages to say with a steady voice.

Castiel feels Dean bristle immediately at Michael’s poor choice of words.

“Wait, what exactly are you saying?” Dean blurts. “That you jokers _made_ our families?”

Castiel turns his face to Dean’s. “Master, I’m as outraged as you are. They had no right to alter fate for their selfish purposes and twist it until it met their ends. Although,” he continues softly, leaning his forehead to rest against Dean’s. “If they had not, then, I would never have been your djinni and-”

“I wouldn’t be your Master.” Dean finishes. He rubs noses with Castiel, whispers something sweetly into his ear and turns back to Michael. “I don’t think I could live in a world without Cas. No,” he shakes his head vehemently, appalled by the very notion. “I _know_ I couldn’t live in a world without him.” he amends. “So, I guess, thanks for making my mom and dad.”

“Dean, even though Hajji and I willed it, you and Castiel are together because it was destined. Regardless of the Marid’s interference, you and he would always end with each other. I, well…heh,” he huffs a small laugh. “Let’s just say I used my… _magic_ to help fate along.”

Dean snorts at that, trying to wrap his head around the intricately woven web the Marid wove in order to link their combined fates, and in an uncharacteristic move, shrugs and laughs.

Castiel is taken aback by his reaction. Even Balthazar seems unsure, dubious of his friend’s sanity.

“Master, why are you laughing?” Castiel asks gingerly.

Dean answers by pressing his lips firmly against Castiel’s plush pout. “Because, baby, this…” he gestures from Michael to Balthazar back to himself. “This is just par-for-the-fucking-course with us. Listen, I know this may sound screwy. Hell, screwy is putting it mildly. But yeah, I finally get it. You and me, us, there was no way we were not gonna end up together. Even if we tried, we’d still end up stuck with each other. And you know what? I couldn’t be happier about it.” he says leaning in for another press of lips. “So, if it’s fate, or Hajji, or the way the stars align, I don’t care. ‘Cause I choose us too.”

And just like that, Castiel finds it in his heart to forgive his brother. All thanks to Dean and his enthusiastic acceptance of their situation, of their destiny.

“Dean, no words could make me happier than those you’ve just uttered. I choose us too.” He says softly in response to Dean’s romantic declaration, blue eyes glowing with held back tears, free hand cupping his fiancé’s face.

He holds Dean’s gaze for a moment before turning to Michael. “Brother…I will need some time to process everything you’ve just revealed. I only wish you could have come sooner. But in order to move forward and start rebuilding our fractured relationship you must never lie to any of us ever again.” he looks over to Balthazar and smiles. 

He can’t believe how good he feels. Sure, Michael’s confession was gut wrenching but also extremely enlightening. His brother and Hajji did horrible cruel things, but in the end, they tried to set them right. _They tried_ , and Dean was the result of their misguided actions. “I also expect that from now on, you will be a constant presence in our lives.” He specifies. “You must promise to let us know your whereabouts at all times. You-“

“If I may, Castiel,” Michael cuts in, enjoying the way his brother’s name feels rolling over his tongue. “I’d like to announce that I have every intention of attending my youngest brother’s wedding on the twenty-seventh of this month. If you permit me, of course…” he adds, hope mingling with dread at the prospect.

Castiel looks to Dean for approval, small smile growing wide in response to Dean’s large grin.

“Ah, yeah, we’d love to have ya.” Dean answers for them both, rubbing the back of his neck thoughtfully, trying to shake off the unpleasant tingle he felt earlier from Michael’s touch. ' _No biggie, probably paws everybody like that.’_ He reasons and pushes any lingering discomfort from his mind.

…

“Mmm…Master…” Castiel moans, trying to remain lucid but failing as he quickly unravels under Dean’s mouth.

“Yeah, baby?” Dean mumbles against the djinni’s hipbone. “You like that?” he asks, mouthing at the prominent peak, worrying the already bruised skin.

Dean wasted no time, going from zero to sixty as soon as Michael and Balthazar blinked out of their home. He pounced on Castiel, ravaging him with a hunger and urgency that literally, left the djinni breathless.

“Shouldn’t we…ah…fuck-” Castiel tries to speak, but only manages a strangled grunt when Dean pushes his way between his thighs.

“Yeah,” Dean smirks against the trembling flesh. “That’s the idea…to _fuck_.” He confirms, tongue poking out to lap around the djinni’s hypersensitive groin.

It feels like it’s been a fucking eternity since he’s settled comfortably between Castiel’s legs. He inhales deeply, luxuriating in the light clean musk of the djinni’s intoxicating scent, gently nuzzling against the rapidly hardening flesh.

“Shhh…” Dean coos, nose rubbing against velvet, tongue running up its length. “Gonna make you feel so good.”

Now that he finally has Castiel where he wants him, flat on his back, knees bent, spread wide, a quivering mess on their bed, Dean gets to work. He takes his sweet time; meticulously ministering to his fiancé’s every need in order to ensure that his pleasure spikes a ten on the Richter scale.

He dives in, prepping the djinni with fingers and tongue, spreading his hands wide to cover as much of the warm solid flesh as he can with each pass he makes, grabbing narrow hips to pull him closer.

Castiel groans, squirming when Dean sucks on his balls, tongue curling around one, then the other, slurping the heavy sacs with loud porn worthy moans.

“Dean!” the djinni cries bucking up, loving the hot wet heat of his Master’s mouth as he devours him.

Wrapping strong calloused fingers around Castiel’s length, Dean tugs, reveling in the small whimpers and breathy moans each skillful pull tears from the djinni’s throat. “Mmm…” he hums, lapping at the bittersweet beads of pre-cum coating the crown, hips rutting helplessly against the mattress.

Castiel lets his legs fall further apart and lowers his hand to put gentle pressure on the top of his Master’s head, urging Dean to take him deeper.

Dean exhales to relax his throat and easily takes the thick length without gagging. He lets Castiel set the pace at first, slow and steady, slurping at the head, saliva messily dripping down the shaft. But, the growing pressure in his own balls motivates him to switch gears. So taking a deep breath, he lets his head sink lower until the djinni’s cock slips past his throat, and swallows.

Castiel groans loud, wanton, pitch so high Dean’s sure his cries carry into their neighbor’s house, mentally patting himself on the back for causing such a debauched sound.

The djinni’s hips shoot up from the overwhelming pressure around his cock and the gentle hold on Dean’s head turns brutal. He grabs a fistful of hair, fingers dragging roughly through the soft strands, and pulls, using a firm grip to keep the bobbing head in place, forcing his Master’s head to angle just where he wants it.

Dean winces from the sting, but moans in appreciation, loving the push pull between heady pleasure and grounding pain.

Castiel’s reply is one long continuous rumble, a blend of curses mixed with blessings and Dean’s name. He shifts his hips, ass wiggling, feet planted flat on the bed for leverage, and begins fucking his Master’s mouth in earnest.

Dean relaxes and lets the djinni take control, jaw going slack, the perfect vessel for Castiel’s cock.

He braces himself on one elbow, fingers curling around his lover’s thigh for purchase, and dips the fingers from his free hand into the pool of saliva gathered over the djinni’s crotch. With his fingers thoroughly soaked, Dean maneuvers his hand to part the djinni’s ass-cheeks, spreading the tacky fluid around and over Castiel’s crevice, one digit pausing to rub against the tightly clenched pucker.

When Castiel feels the first hints of pressure against his hole, he cries out. “M…Maaster!” he gasps body thrashing with full body shivers. When Dean inserts the tip, he yelps. “Fuck!” and thrusts, ass clenching, hips jerking.

Dean gags, splutters around Castiels dick as it slides effortlessly in and out of his mouth. He quickly recovers and adds a second finger, pumping the djinni’s hole, slow at first, then a little faster, scissoring him open a little bit harder, prepping Castiel for the thick girth of his painfully hard dick.

When a third digit joins the previous two, Castiel whimpers, body squirming, needy. “Please…”

Dean pulls his fingers out when he hears the hushed plea, the filthy squelchy sounds make his already rock hard dick, harder. He tilts his head back and lets Castiel’s cock slip out, the audible wet pop, loud in the suddenly silent room. “Please what?” he asks, voice beyond wreaked, more of a guttural grunt than actual words.

“Please…fuck me!” Castiel bites out, jerking his hips with an impatient wiggle to get his point across.

“Fuck...” Dean sighs, palming at his cock, pressing down on the thick length until the urge to _cumrightthefucknow_ , passes. But the gravel rough rasp of the djinni’s voice, only spurs him to greater lengths of debauchery.

He sits back on his haunches, licking his bruised lips and strokes himself, cock hard and flushed, chest heaving. “Cas” he gasps voice deep and husky. “It’s all I’ve been thinking about. Dying to be inside you…missed your sweet tight hole so fucking much…” He says dirtily, rambling obscenities while his fucked out fiancé looks on in with heavy lidded eyes.

He lowers himself, places his arms on either side of Castiel’s waist and climbs the long length of his body. He stops when he gets to the djinni’s beautiful face, bracketing his head between bent elbows and leans in for a kiss.

Castiel takes advantage of their new position by wrapping his legs around Dean’s waist to pull him closer.

Their kisses turn sloppy, tongues overlapping and probing, mapping out well-known and dearly loved territory, hips rutting, cocks rubbing, the friction, glorious. They pull apart to catch their breath, eyes never breaking contact and then without a word, Dean sits back on his knees, grabs Castiels’ ankles and hoists them onto his shoulders.

He gets back into his previous position, hands on either side of Castiel's waist, arms straight to hold himself up. He grabs his magically slicked dick, sweeping it along the crevice, feeling around blindly until the tip catches against its target. Dean rolls his hips, a delicious bump and grind, gently putting pressure against the tight pucker without breaching, teasing with clever twists of his hips.

“What are you waiting for?!” Castiel grits out, impatient. “Fuck me already!” he demands.

Dean slams in and Castiel shuts the fuck up, all the air punched out of him when Dean thrusts forward, bottoming out in one delicious slide.

They both wail from the mind-blowing pleasure. For Dean, the tight wet heat that envelopes his dick has him on edge way too soon for his liking.

For Castiel, the burning stretch and heavy weight filling and splitting him, has him keening in bliss.

“M-move…” he orders, and with some very impressive agility, grabs his ankles to pull his legs further back and apart, thus granting his Master’s dick greater access to his hole.

With the djinni’s legs mostly out of the way, Dean plows deeper, grinds down harder, his balls hitting Castiel’s ass with each pump of hips, all the while his mouth hot and wet against the djinni’s.

Castiel grunts with each consecutive thrust, hips twisting and grinding in just the right way.

“Fuck…baby.” Dean groans, already so close.

Dean’s pace is steady, relentless as he plows into him, bending the djinni’s nimble body in half. The angle permits Dean to penetrate deeper and his dick to hit Castiel’s sweet spot with more precision; the constant stimulation has the djinni mewling in ecstasy, an incoherent mess. While the sweet friction and scorching heat around his trapped cock, has him on the brink of release.

“Fuck…love you so much.” Dean gasps, hips never breaking their rhythm. “My-my beautiful djinni.”

Castiel’s eyes open at the endearment, the ardor he sees in his Master’s face and the reverence of his tone, pushes him over the edge. He cums with a stifled grunt, dick untouched, the orgasm catches him off guard and shocks him with its impact.

“Fuck-” Dean curses in awe from the exquisite sight, groaning when he feels Castiel clenching around him. “Fucking amazing! Gonna fuck you so hard you’ll feel it for a fucking week!” he swears, words halting through short breaths.

Dean doesn’t last much longer; the djinni’s cooling cum against his heated skin, seeping it’s potent power in through his pores, coupled with the breathtaking sight of a completely fucked out Castiel getting pounded within an inch of his life, has Dean following closely behind.

He spills. “Casss…” and fills Castiel’s hole with stream after stream of his magic laced semen.

Castiel, still spasming from his orgasm’s aftershocks, milks Dean’s dick of every precious drop.

“Dean,” he sighs adoringly, fingers digging into his Master’s back, loving how the muscles shift and flex along with the sway of his hips and their waning momentum.

“Cas…oomph!” Dean grunts collapsing on top of Castiel’s welcoming embrace. He turns his head and places a soft kiss on the djinni’s earlobe, nipping at it playfully before speaking.

“Heh,” he huffs shifting in the djinni’s arms. “I friggin needed that.” He says lightly, voice rough, words garbled. But it’s not the truth, not the whole truth anyway. And because he no longer cares to hide his true feelings and their terrifying depths from this man, his soon to be husband, he adds shyly, voice thick with emotion, “You too, you know, I…I _need_ you too. Even without the sexy parts, baby, I need all of you.”

Castiel cups the curve of Dean’s jaw with a trembling hand. “Dean, I…me too.” he replies to the heartfelt confession. “Apparently, I’ve needed you since before you were even born.” He realizes happily. “And, yes, I have always loved you, of that there was never any doubt.”

Dean leans into the touch and smiles.

_‘Kiss, kiss, kiss, kiss…’_

Castiel’s eyes widen and his lips part in amazement upon hearing the unexpected chant all around them, shattering the tranquil silence of their bedroom.

“Sounds like they’re playing our song.” Dean grins, giving himself another pat on the back for finding yet another clever way to apply his magic and using it this time to conjure up Castiel’s favorite human tradition.

_‘Possibilities are endless.’_ He muses and leans in for a kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Michael Al Faysal-Saifullah translates to Michael the Judge and Sword of God


	23. Epilogue part three-Once Upon a Dream

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel is loved and loves in return. He couldn’t be happier. Although…
> 
> “Whoa, what’s with the gloomy expression all of the sudden?”
> 
> Castiel looks between both brothers, each looking back with matching curious frowns on their faces; he hadn’t meant for his mask to slip.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew! We're finally at the end!  
> Thanks so much TO ALL OF YOU for taking this ride with me!!! Thanks for the kudos and lovely comments!!! You are all wonderful gorgeous special sweethearts!! Please let me know what you think of my story. I would love to read your thoughts and opinions. Hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it.

**Gabriel and Sam’s condo: Four hours before the Wedding**

Castiel moans a sleepy protest against a pair of phantom lips pressing urgent kisses against his.

 _‘Wake up sleepy-head.’_ A phantom voice whispers into his mouth. _‘Time to get up and get ready for_ _your wedding day, baby.’_ it breathes against the warm skin of his neck, trailing heated puffs of air over the taut skin of his chest, ghosting over a nipple, leaving behind a hardened nub.

“Dean…please…” Castiel sighs and automatically reaches back, groaning in frustration when the heated breath dissipates, leaving behind goose-fleshed skin.

 _‘Don’t worry, sweetheart, I’ll be taking good care of you in a few hours.’_ Dean’s ghostly presence promises. _‘Love you…’_ his voice trails off.

“Fuck me…” Castiel whines into his pillow once alone, impatiently palming his morning wood and frustrated that he has to wait too many hours to do anything about it. _But it will be so worth the wait,_ he hums to himself and smiling brightly, pushes the covers back and gets up, more than eager to get to the altar and stand beside his Master in wedded bliss.

…

**Dean and Castiel’s house: Three hours before the Wedding**

“Relax, man, you look great. Although, I’d probably lose the turban if I were you.” Sam teases while critiquing Dean on his wedding robes.

Dean sizes himself up in his bedroom’s full-length mirrors (courtesy of Castiel’s fervent wish to see his Master penetrate him from all angles during their epic lovemaking battles) and frowns at what he sees.

“Hmph, I don’t know dude, does it make me look…fat? What if Cas thinks I look ridiculous in this get-up? What if everyone laughs at-?”

Sam does laugh at that.

“Dean, I cannot believe how insecure you sound. You know no matter what you wear, Cas won’t be able to take his eyes off you, as per usual. The guy worships you, thinks you’re a freaking Adonis. Though, I can’t for the life of me figure out why - OUCH!” he yelps rubbing his nose where Dean’s deceptively heavy turban struck him.

“Not funny, bitch!” Dean snaps, voice tight with tension and easily dodging the turban when Sam flings it back.

“Easy, man.” Sam says holding his hands up in surrender. “It’s gonna be fine.” he tries to reassure.

Dean rakes both hands through his hair and brings them down to rub roughly over his face. “How do you know? What if he doesn’t like the surprise with Michael and Oman and all the tribes…Cas is so great and he deserves… I mean, what if I fuck this up, and -“

A firm grip on his shoulder interrupts his ranting.

“And what if you don’t? What if he loves the surprise and the fact that you went through all of this trouble for him? What if you prove to be the best partner Cas could’ve ever hoped for? His perfect mate?” Sam says softly, soothingly. “Guy’s in love with you Dean, and from what you told me, so are you. Meant to be and all that romantic destiny stuff, your words, remember?”

Dean squeezes his eyes shut, holding onto his brother’s words, letting the truth of them sink in, exhaling long and loud to release all of his pent-up anxiety.

“It’s just nerves. Classic case of pre-wedding jitters. You’re gonna marry Cas, big step, but it’s what you’ve been wanting. You’ll be fine.” Sam repeats.

Dean nods and grins, grateful for the pep talk. “Yeah, all right. You’re right Sammy. Ah…thanks.”

“So,” Sam starts after a brief, but not uncomfortable, silence. “When are you going to show it to me?”

“I only pull it out for Cas now, bro.” Dean scowls.

“Yeah, gross, Dean. I meant Cas’ wedding gift, you moron.” He grimaces back.

Now it’s Dean’s turn to laugh. “Should see your face, Sammy. Geesh how did I get such a prude for a brother.” He wonders shaking his head, laughing softly.

He walks over to his dresser, opens the top drawer and reaches in, pulling out a small onyx box.

At first glance, the surface appears perfectly smooth, blemish free but emitting a soft pulsating glow. But on closer inspection, Sam can see a multitude of intricately carved runes covering the lid. He gasps, awestruck when Dean lifts the onyx lid, revealing a beautiful golden cuff nestled on top of a black velvet cushion resting inside the small jewelry chest.

“Think Cas’ll like it?” Dean asks nervously, gnawing unconsciously on his lower lip.

“Dude, Cas is definitely going to _love_ that!” Sam replies with unwavering certainty, heart clenching with want at the sight, images of how Gabriel’s face would light up if he were the one on the receiving end. “You’re definitely gonna owe Balthazar after this.” He says instead, reining in his emotional reaction.

“Heh, you ain’t kidding. I, ah, hate to admit it, but Bal really came through.” Dean grudgingly concedes. “He took me to this Joshua guy in Oman, old dude, kept freakin fawning over me, man, creepy.” He shudders. “Anyway, he kept going on about how this is his finest work and how my, ah, hybrid magic magnifies my…um…control over it...” he relays haltingly.

Sam’s brows shoot up past his long bangs, mouth dropping wide. “Wow, you guys really making _it_ all kinds of official, huh?”

“What’s that even supposed to mean? What’s the _it_ we’re supposedly making official?”

“You’re kidding, right? Owning each other outright, d’uh.”

Unfazed by Dean’s stormy glower, he elaborates. “Listen, don’t get upset, but you can’t tell me you two don’t already belong to each other.” He points out. “Now you’ve gone and etched it onto his magical cuff, and I’m willing to bet you anything that Cas’ done the same with your gift.”

“The hell? It’s just a symbol is all, according to that Joshua dude, anyway. Cas doesn’t own me and it’s not like I really own him. Not like he’d even want me to be…like his…”

“I believe the word you’re looking for is, Master.” Sam finishes for him with a snort. “Pfft, Dean, please, you are so owned, don’t even try to deny it. And don’t bother telling me you’re offended, ‘cause you love it and you know it.” He challenges laughing at how Dean scowls and sputters trying to come up with a convincing retort.

But he can’t. Resigned, and pointedly ignoring his brother’s taunts, Dean goes back to gazing at his fiancé’s cuff, mesmerized by its beauty and secretly thrilling at the prospect that with it, Castiel will forever be _his_. And hoping, _not that he would ever admit it_ , especially to Sam, that he too receives a gift that would permanently mark him as Castiel’s.

“You know, it’s made from the same metal as Cas’ bottle. When Joshua joined my magic to it, the pale silver-blue turned to gold. Neat, eh?” Dean observes with childlike wonder, green eyes gone wide and dreamy.

The heavy weight of Sam’s arm around his shoulder, snaps Dean out of his reverie. “Whipped.” He whispers into Dean’s ear.

Head in the proverbial clouds and heart overflowing with his, deep breath, _love_ for his, shivering sigh, _husband to be,_ Dean doesn’t deny it.

…

**Gabriel and Sam’s Condo: Three and a half hours until the Wedding**

“You’re up early.” Gabriel comments, magically setting down an enormous breakfast tray full to the brim with a variety of pastries, fruits, smoked meats, breads, cheeses, freshly squeezed juice, champagne and coffee. All for Castiel to indulge in while he bathes.

“And what’s with the goofy grin?” he asks, bemused smile on his face while Castiel’s own grin grows wider.

The bridegroom chooses to ignore his brother’s question and instead moves to settle carefully into the heated plunging pool Gabriel blinked into his bedroom for his pre-wedding bath.

Gabriel and Balthazar insisted Castiel spend his last evening as a single djinni with them in Gabriel’s condo.

The older djinni surprised his brother by transforming the already spacious guest bedroom, into a suite with all the amenities of the finest five star hotels. The tastefully decorated room boasts a ridiculously plush and supremely comfortable king size bed, floor to ceiling windows that overlook the Atlantic, and an indoor pool and sauna to help ease and smooth away any pent up tension or nerves the soon-to-be-married Castiel might be feeling.

“What do you mean?” Castiel finally replies stretching his long limbs and easing them with a long drawn out sigh into the steaming water, luxuriating in its lightly floral scent. “I always look this way.” he remarks innocently.

Gabriel barks with laughter, Balthazar, snorts. “You?” he asks not bothering to hide his shock.”Bro, the look you usually sport is, to put it kindly, pinched. As in pinched because of the massive effort it’s taking you to pinch off the even more massive loaf you’ve got wedged, deep, deep, deep, deep, inside that cute-as-a-button ass of yours.” Gabriel, _tastefully,_ counters.

Castiel levels him with an unamused glare. “I don’t understand that-“

“Yeah, yeah, reference, we know. Look, never mind. But isn’t it bad luck for the _groom_ to see the _groom_ the day of the wedding?” Gabriel fishes.

“Gabriel, I…no, we did not see each other, if you must know.” Castiel replies prissily.

“Hm, too bad, I was never one for superstitions. But I still think you were paid a visit by the horny-Dean fairy, this morning.”

Castiel’s grin reappears at his brother’s spot on speculation, but he neither confirms nor denies his theory, responding simply by completely submerging his head under the heated bliss of the pool’s water. When he breaks the surface, loud whoosh of air from being underwater for over a minute, he’s still grinning. “This is lovely, Gabriel, thank you.” he sighs contentedly.

“Hmph, nothing to good for my baby bro on his wedding day.” He answers uncharacteristically serious. “We’re gonna make sure this day goes off without a hitch. Ain’t that so, Balthy?”

Lounging in the adjacent pool, Balthazar looks up, smiles and nods, hand breaking the pool’s surface to gesture with a thumbs-up. “S’loutely.” He murmurs.

Castiel laughs softly, a deep throaty chuckle of pure delight.

Gabriel has promised him a perfect day. And so far, he’s given him just that. Michael is back in their lives, and even though there are still several metaphorical fences to mend between them, he’s nonetheless been welcomed back into the fold with open arms by his brethren, all overjoyed to have their long lost brother back.

But most importantly, Dean. He’s happiest because of Dean’s assurances that he now, unequivocally, believes in their union, regardless of how it came to be.

Castiel is loved and loves in return. He couldn’t be happier. Although…

“Whoa, what’s with the gloomy expression all of the sudden?”

Castiel looks between both brothers, each looking back with matching curious frowns on their faces; he hadn’t meant for his mask to slip.

“Talk. What’s the matter?” Gabriel prods.

“…”

“Cassie, just spill, already. Or do you want us to guess? Hm?” Balthazar goads. When Castiel still doesn’t reply, he ventures the following, “Very well, it must be Dean. What did he do wrong, now?”

Castiel sighs and relents, mostly because he won’t have them speak ill of his Master. “Of course it’s not Dean. He’s the reason for my great joy.”

“Then…?” Gabriel and Balthazar both ask.

“It’s just that, well, this is silly, really. I mean, I don’t want to be ungrateful, it’s just…”

“Oh for Hajji’s sake, just say it.”

“Well, part of me wishes we could have the ceremony back in Oman. I always dreamed that if I ever did get to marry the person I truly love and loves me in return, it would be in our homeland surrounded by our people. It’s been too long since there was a truly happy reason to celebrate there.”

“Yeah...that does sound...nice.” Gabriel answers haltingly, gazing over to Balthazar before continuing. “But, ah, come on, do you really want to go through all _that_ trouble? I mean, it was bad enough planning a wedding here, right? Imagine the difficulty of that massive feat magnified by a thousand. Honestly, the logistics alone…” He whistles loudly at the magnitude. “Plus, all of Dean’s family and friends are already here, and Oman’s still recovering. The tribes are all still settling into their new roles. Whew! I’m exhausted just thinking about it.” he sighs dramatically.

Gabriel wants nothing more than to grant his now crestfallen and slouching baby brother anything he wishes, but he isn’t about to ruin Dean’s surprise.

“Of course, like I said, I was being silly. I didn’t mean to be ungrateful and suggest that we should have chosen Oman over Cocoa Beach…” Castiel answers in a small voice.

“Really, Castiel, why didn’t you say something sooner?” Balthazar tuts. “Look, how about we all take a trip back home in a couple of weeks and throw a big party with all of _our_ people in attendance - doesn’t that sound nice?” he offers in a desperate attempt to liven the suddenly somber mood.

Castiel looks over to him, brow cocked. “And…”

Balthazar throws his hands up, sudsy water splashing onto the floor. “ _And_ …Dean too, if you insist.” His snarky attitude has the desired effect if Castiel’s exaggerated eye-roll and the delicious curl of his lips is anything to go by.

“Balthazar, you are incorrigible.” He scolds without heat.

“I have no idea why you would think that, brother. But if it will put a smile on that gorgeous face of yours, then I’ll be whatever you want.” He purrs suggestively.

From behind, they can hear Gabriel make loud gagging noises. “Now I get why Dean-o always wants to punch your lights out, Balthy.”

He walks over to Balthazar’s side and sits crossed legged by the edge of the pool. Leaning precariously over the edge he whispers loud enough for Castiel to hear, “Crank it back a few notches there, bro, kid’s taken and besides, you’re related, so…”

"Heh, that never stopped Michael and Lucifer.” Balthazar replies dryly.

“’Kay, I give up. You are officially not allowed to be around me when I’m in the buff. This glorious body,” he gestures over the expanse of his torso. “Is for Sammy’s eyes only.”

“And more power to him.” Balthazar scoffs.

“Why you!” Gabriel snaps and flings himself into the pool grabbing Balthazar by the neck and dragging him under.

Castiel rolls his eyes, again, over their antics, knowing it’s just their way to distract him from his depressing thoughts.

And he appreciates it. But he also knows that it’s unnecessary. This may not be the fantasy wedding he’s wished for, but marrying Dean more than makes up for it. Yes, today will be a magical day, figuratively speaking. And he intends to enjoy and savor every moment.

…

**The Chapel: Half an hour until the Wedding**

By the time his limousine pulls up to the chapel, the day’s sunny morning has turned overcast and gloomy, much to Castiel’s dismay,

The charming small limestone building, centuries old but well maintained, still manages to glow faintly despite the heavy cloud cover.

“Where did the sun go?” he asks aloud, voice an irritated growl.

“Hey, no, don’t be upset. Grey skies are good luck for a wedding.” Charlie, looking lovely next to him in a pale green tulle dress, says encouragingly.

Jo, in a matching strapless version, huffs in exasperation. “It’s rainy skies, you mean.” She corrects, and pats Castiel’s knee. “But either way, even if this turns into a hurricane, today’s gonna be a lucky day, okay, sweetie?” she says kindly.

Castiel takes her hand in his, and smiles. “Thank you, both of you. Today is a very lucky day, indeed.” He agrees and readies to step out just as the driver walks over to his side and opens the door.

He has to take several deep breaths to steady his hammering heart and calm the multitude of butterflies threatening to overwhelm him. _‘Master…’_ he unintentionally calls out with his mind.

 _‘Cas, I’m here…I’ve got you.’_ Dean immediately replies.

Hearing Dean’s voice in his head soothes his nerves like nothing else can.

He takes the driver’s offered hand and climbs out, waiting by the side until Jo and Charlie join him.

Together, with Castiel slightly in the lead, they walk towards the church’s granite steps. It’s only a few feet to the large oak double doors, but to the still jittery djinni it seems like miles. He takes the first tentative step, hesitating until he feels both Jo and Charlie’s smaller hands slip easily into his slightly trembling ones.

Now, hand in hand, the three make their way to the top where he sees Gabriel and Balthazar, standing on either side of the doors, waiting to walk him down the aisle.

“Cassie, ladies, you all look beautiful.” Gabriel tells them, grinning happily, amber eyes shining brightly.

“Castiel…you’re breathtaking. Dean’s a very lucky man.” Balthazar says voice choked, words clipped, and following Gabriel’s lead, moves to stand next to the door’s handles.

With Castiel in the middle, Gabriel and Balthazar each grab a handle and pull the massive doors open.

Castiel staggers back, would have fallen except for Jo and Charlie’s gentle hands holding him in place. “I don’t understand.” He says in a low awed voice. “How…but, why…”

“Well, whadda you say we go in and find out?” Jo whispers next to him and taking a step back nudges him towards Gabriel and Balthazar.

The brothers, hands reaching for Castiel, take him by the elbow and proceed to escort him inside.

…

**The Wedding**

Castiel freezes, pinned to the spot, mouth open from shock, only moving when each brother grabs an arm and steers him towards his destiny.

He’s stunned, head spinning, trying to make sense of what he sees when he steps through the doors and _outside_ onto a balcony with a dazzling clear blue sky overhead.

He tries to get his bearings, because instead of rows and rows of dark wooden pews leading to an altar backlit by an enormous stained glass window, he sees rows and rows of gilded benches, delicate in design and angled to face a low marble platform.

Over the platform, strewn with a myriad of twinkling lights, is a large sheer muslin canopy elaborately decorated with an arrangement of pink-ombre, fuchsia, and white peonies, with plenty of Oman’s indigenous greenery added, as an accent.

 _‘Of course, Oman!’_ _‘_

 _Surprise, baby.’_ Dean whispers into his frenzied mind.

_‘Dean!’_

Castiel’s breath catches when his eyes land on the stunning sight of his Master.

Instead of being dressed in his pristine white officer’s uniform, Dean stands tall and proud, smack dab in the middle of the dais, looking magnificent in white raw silk robes strewn with emeralds, malachite, jades, (the greens of the precious stones highlighting his own luminous eyes) and fine rose-gold bullion embroidery. 

Their eyes connect, and like a bolt of lightning, the heat of his Master’s gaze shoots straight through the heart of him. Castiel actually stumbles as Dean’s eyes rake hungrily over his body, and it takes all his willpower not to blink himself directly into his arms.

 _‘You look beautiful, Cas.’_ He feels Dean say softly inside of him; Dean’s phantom voice courses love throughout his system and Castiel berates himself for not ‘eloping’ with his Master when he had suggested it months ago. 

_‘But, I think you might be more comfortable in this.’_ Dean offers.

Castiel feels an odd, though not unpleasant, tingling throughout his body. When he looks down, he’s not surprised to see that his immaculate ivory tuxedo, has been transformed into a white robe set encrusted with a variety of blue colored gems around the neckline and silver bullion embroidery throughout. The ensemble is stunning and exactly what Castiel would have chosen, given the chance.

 _‘Dean…’_ Castiel sends back, enveloping the thought with all of the longing, need, and gratitude that he can safely transfer without overwhelming his Master with its enormity.

He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, lips curling at one end when he opens them and finds Dean blushing. It’s comforting and rewarding to know that his Master’s just as flustered and affected by the ceremony as he is.

With monumental effort, he tears his eyes away, and looks around, not wanting to miss a single thing.

His wonder is renewed and rewarded by what he sees all around. The gardens of his family’s ancestry palace have never looked more lush or lovely. No detail too small or overlooked, everything lovingly catered to.

He walks steadily, thanks to Gabriel and Balthazar’s support, towards the altar. To his left, seated on the golden gilded benches, are all of Dean’s friends and family, Ellen and Bobby, Benny and Charlie’s girlfriend, plus an assorted group of privileged friends and family that know all about Castiel and Dean’s profound bond. But most importantly, seated at the very front and along the aisle is the General himself, John Winchester, eyes glassy and smile wide, pride rolling off of him in waves. He beams at Castiel, giving him a wink and thumbs up when they make eye contact.

Castiel feels his cheeks redden, overjoyed at the warm acceptance and loving embrace Dean’s family has so selflessly extended to him. He’s never felt so loved.

On the right, sitting on silver leafed benches, much to his great delight, are a conglomeration of his people, the Marid, Ifrit, and Jann. At the very front, is Kali, resplendent in red robes and ruby jewelry. Directly next to her, is Naomi, glowing and ethereal in pale blue with white and blue diamonds, matching the clarity of her eyes. But it’s most likely the handsome young djinni, Samandriel, leaning against her side, that is the cause for the dazzling smile on her pretty face.

Before he knows it, he’s reached the altar, it’s now only a few steps until he’s standing next to Dean.

“Dean…” he says, voice a deep thick rumble.

Dean’s eyes widen, drinking the djinni in with a ravenous look. “Cas…” he croaks in reply.

Sam clears his throat, _loudly_ , to get their attention. The younger man, decked out in a less opulent version of Dean’s robes, is standing next to his Master, and even though he cuts a striking figure, no one can really blame Castiel for not having noticed him earlier when all Castiel can see ahead of him is, _Dean, Dean, Dean._

However, when he looks to his Master’s right, he does scold himself. Because standing there and looking at him fondly is Michael the only djinni, other than an Imam, with the authority to perform their ceremony.

“Michael…” Castiel says warmly, thrilled that his own brother will be the one uniting them for all eternity; the realization both daunting and comforting.

With a gentle prod from both Gabriel and Balthazar, he walks the last few steps to stand by Dean’s side - gladly taking his Master’s outstretched hand, clutching it tightly and visibly relaxing from the warmth and security emanating from Dean’s touch.

Dean’s lips part in a soft gasp from the unmissable sparks that shoot out the moment their hands connect. “Hey, baby.” He greets almost shyly, shoulders losing their rigidly, he’s so relieved.

Now that he finally has Castiel _here_ , by _his_ side, he can relax and enjoy the moment. No longer nervous and antsy, it’s relief that floods Dean’s system as well as _serenity, security_ and, _love_. And it’s not because he was unsure of his commitment to the djinni. On the contrary, it’s his steadfast conviction in their union that has kept him from bolting. That, and the certainty that he no longer wants to be alone and that he, gulp, _deserves_ to be with this man, this angel sent from heaven, or Kaf, Castiel.

They’re lost in each other’s gaze, unaware of the proceedings until Michael’s raised voice snaps their attention back to him. Apparently, he’s been speaking for quite some time, trying in vain to get replies from them about their vows.

“I understand, dear friends that the grooms, Dean, Castiel,” he repeats addressing one then the other, eyebrow cocked but smile full of affection. “Have each composed their own vows.”

They nod and he continues. “Wonderful. Dean, would you like to go first?”

 _‘Shit! Me? First?’_ Dean’s split second of panic quickly dissipates the moment his eyes settle back onto Castiel.

Taking a deep calming breath and never breaking eye contact with the djinni, he starts, "Castiel, Cas, you know, I've never been great with words. So, I, ah..." he stumbles and blinks a roll of parchment into his hand. "I went ahead and did some research and came across this.” He motions to the roll and opens it. “I’m sorta hoping this will express how committed I am to you. To us." taking another deep inhale, he reads:

"Entreat me not to leave you, or to return from following after you, for where you go I will go, and where you stay I will stay. Your people will be my people, and your God will be my God. And where you die, I will die and there I will be buried. May the Lord do with me and more if anything but _death_ parts you from me."

Dean finishes, congratulating himself for keeping a steady voice even though he couldn’t hear it above the jack-hammering beat of his heart. He sends a wink Castiel’s way, knowing from the djinni’s wide blue eyes and softly parted lips that he’s just as shaken and affected by Dean’s words as he was saying them.

“Castiel…” Michael prompts.

"Dean…" Castiel says right on cue, voice a dry rasp, eyes unblinking. "I, um, also, needed help to find words that… ah, the words to express what I feel, I mean, have felt, from the first. Since the FIRST time I gazed upon you." he stutters and drops his eyes, blushing furiously.

And _that_ right there, the way Castiel fumbles and reddens, just about floors Dean. To him, Castiel is all-absolute. The confidence he usually exudes and the certainty with which he approaches everything he does is an integral trait of the djinni’s. So, to hear him stammer through his vows, tongue-tied, embarrassed and just as nervous as Dean, is both extremely adorable and endearing to the astronaut.

Castiel blinks and unwinds his own scroll."I have here an ancient text translated from the very first tome on the djinn. These words are the first ever recorded from Hajji on his view on love and marriage, and I believe, I hope, they encompass the depth of my feelings for you and our bond." He continues: now more smoothly.

"If I speak in the tongues of men and of the djinn, _but have not love,_ I am only a resounding gong or a clanging cymbal. If I have the gift of prophecy and can fathom all mysteries and all knowledge, and if I have a faith that can move mountains, _but have not love_ , I am nothing. If I give all I possess to the poor and surrender my body to the flames, _but have not love_ , I gain nothing." He pauses. "Dean, without the love I have for you and the love you have given to me, I would be nothing. I am yours as you are mine. Now, I am whole."

“Cas…” Dean whispers, shaken by Castiel’s powerful declaration as well as by the growing pressure in his chest; he feels short of breath, light headed. _‘Fuck it,_ he thinks, and acting on impulse, grabs hold of Castiel's face and swallows him in a kiss.

The djinni parts his lips and exhales, filling Dean’s lungs with the sweet oxygen that his Master can't seem to get enough of on his own.

"Ahem," hiding his smile behind his fisted hand, Michael clears his throat. "May we continue?"

Finally, becoming aware of their audience, Dean and Castiel release each other, but still keep their fingers tightly linked, refusing to lose contact for even an instant.

The rest of the proceedings are a blur to Dean who’s otherwise too occupied with thoughts of Castiel to encompass or retain the meaning of Michael’s speech extolling the sanctity of their love, praising Hajji and blessing their marriage.

“Dean?” Michael repeats.

“Oh, yeah, sorry there.” He apologizes grinning at the heckling and teasing from his friends for zoning out, again, at his own wedding. “Ah…what was that again?”

Michael shakes his head and looks out towards the crowd, shrugging as if to say _‘These crazy_ _love-sick kids, what can I do?’_ and looking to Dean repeats, “It’s time to exchange your bonding gifts.”

“Okay, yeah.” Dean replies hastily and turning to Sam takes the small onyx box he’s holding from its velvet case. He pulls it out, handling it with great care, gently, reverently, and offers it to Castiel.

“Dean,” Michael starts, his hand hovering over the box, voice magnified, so clear and loud that it not only magically carries to the back of the room, but also throughout the entire kingdom. “Do you take your djinni, Jamil El-Malak Castiel, to be your partner, equal in every respect, to cherish and care for him, to honor, respect and love, in this life and the next?”

“You bet I do.” Dean declares immediately, meaning every word with every fiber of his being.

He opens the box and smiles widely at Castiel’s stunned reaction. Gingerly picking up the bracelet, he hands the box back to Sam, and facing his djinni, once again, reaches for his hand.

“Cas, baby, take this token, this symbol of my love, devotion, and desire to claim you as _mine._ ” It may be the farthest thing from politically correct, but Dean can’t help the growl that escapes as he recites this small memorized speech. “To unite us so that nothing and no one can ever come between us. You are mine as I will always be yours.” He blinks and the bracelet’s transferred to Castiel’s wrist, to rest there forever, fusing part of Dean, his essence, soul, permanently with that of the djinni’s.

When he finishes, he raises Castiel’s hand to his lips and places a soft kiss on the wedding band that’s magically appeared alongside the engagement ring Dean gave him when he first proposed.

“Castiel?” Michael addresses his brother, motioning with a nod for him to proceed with his gift.

Castiel looks from his wrist to Dean, then to his finger, then back to Dean, all the while smiling that wide gummy grin that makes the corner of his eyes crinkle and his nose scrunch up.

Dean has to struggle, epically, to keep from grabbing the djinni’s face and kissing all that cuteness.

Castiel finally looks over to Michael when he realizes that he’s been addressed, and an answer is required. “Sorry, brother, ah, what were you saying?”

“Dear Hajji, you two are hopeless.” Michael huffs out, patience wearing thin, but still smiling. He looks from his brother to Dean and takes a moment to join in the good-natured teasing his comment triggered from their audience.

Castiel blinks owlishly at his brother for a few seconds before turning to see what’s so funny behind him; the tilt of his head and deep blush coloring his cheeks garnering even more laughs.

“Okay, you friggin vultures, stop teasing him.” Dean jokingly scolds and taking Castiel’s hand, pulls him in for a quick peck.

“You’re right, Dean.” Michael replies to Dean’s mock-glare. “My apologies, Castiel. Now, if I could have your attention for just a little while longer, I promise we’ll be done in no time.”

“Sorry, ah, we’ll focus, right baby?” Dean answers for them both.

Michael quickly pushes on after that. “Castiel, do you have your gift ready?”

Castiel nods and thanks Gabriel when his brother deposits Dean’s golden bottle into his waiting hand. “Castiel,” Michael starts, “Do you take your Master, Dean Winchester, to be your partner, and treat him from this day forward as an equal in every respect, to cherish and care for him, to honor, respect and love, in this life and the next?”

“Yes.” Castiel states firmly, without hesitation. “Dean, I give you this gift as a sign of my eternal love and devotion to you and our partnership. By accepting it, you agree to belong solely to me. Knowing that for as long as I live and for as long as we love, no one will ever be able to claim you or take you from me.” he pauses, hand holding out the bottle, waiting anxiously for Dean to take it. “Of course, I would never force you to be with me, but, if you will have me, I will gladly travel beside you through this life and happily into the next, for as long as you’ll let me.”

The silence is deafening, the speech amazing, shocking for its directness, romantic for its humility.

But the bottle is still in Castiel’s hand. The djinni, eyes wide and hopeful, silently pleading for Dean to accept it, and by doing so, finalizing their union.

Dean stares at the bottle, hypnotized by its beauty, physically drawn to it, but frozen in place; the power emanating from the bottle, intimidating in its grandeur.

Michael coughs loudly, breaking the trance, snapping Dean, and by the looks of it, most of the front row from the bottle’s spell.

Dean reaches for the bottle, fingers caressing Castiel’s as the precious gift passes into his firm grip.

“It’s beautiful, Cas. Ah…thanks, baby.” He leans in to kiss the djinni on the cheek, marveling at the thrum of energy surging between him and the bottle where it touches his own wedding band. He steals a quick glance at his new ring and grins happily, admiring the likeness in metal to that of his bottle’s. Taking advantage of their proximity, Dean whispers lewd suggestions on how he plans to christen the bottle, once they’re finally alone.

From all sides, the nearly married couple can hear exasperated huffs and groans. They pull apart, and with matching grinning faces, look back to Michael.

"And the two will become one flesh. So they are no longer two, but one.” Michael concludes. “And now, by the power invested in me here on Earth as well as in Kaf, I now pronounce you husband and husband. What therefore Hajji hath joined together, let no man, or djinn put asunder."

He looks between Dean and Castiel’s expectant faces, small smile growing wide matching the hope in their eyes. “Heh,” he laughs softly, addressing Dean in a quieter voice. “This probably goes without saying, but you may kiss your husband.”

“I’m way ahead of you there, Mike.” Dean replies cheekily and turns his body to face Castiel.

He’s so excited, body brimming with confidence and radiating so much joy that he grabs his husband with a little more force than the situation merits. But he doesn’t care, working on instinct, he lets his body take what it’s been wanting since the djinni first walked onto the balcony. Yanking Castiel by the waist, he wraps him in his arms and kisses him hard and soundly, chuckling softly into his mouth when the room erupts into cheers.

…

**The Reception: The Palace’s Main Ballroom: Two hours later**

It’s been a torturous two hours for Dean, heck, a torturous twenty-four hours, definitely too long to be apart from Castiel, that’s for sure.

Granted, the wedding was a great success, _if he doesn’t say so himself._ And the reception’s not too shabby either; what with everyone enjoying the beautiful grounds, the delicious food and the upbeat music magically drifting in from all sides.

No, it’s all been a great success, everything’s harmonious, and everyone’s united in their joy and happiness for the newlyweds. But, too many toasts, too many speeches, and too many, _"When did the_ _two of you finally realize you couldn’t live without each other?”_ , stories later, and Dean's had enough.

So, After downing his fifth flute of the truly delectable Marid champagne, he decides it’s high time to escape his brother’s clutches and seek out his husband.

He quickly spots the djinni wedged in a corner, chatting animatedly with a small cluster of admirers, John and Bobby at the forefront, across the large ballroom.

He eases out of Sam’s slightly drunken embrace, excuses himself from his own small group of well-wishers and vanishes, appearing almost immediately, beside Castiel. “Hey honey.” He says in a low purr against the djinni’s cheek, rubbing the grain of his stubble lovingly against his husband’s, kissing the pretty blush that blossoms there.

“Hey yourself, boy.” Bobby says gruffly, words slurred from too much drink. “C’mere –“ he says and before Dean has a chance to react, the Colonel pulls him into a crushing embrace. “Proud of you, Dean.”

“Hey, dad.” Dean grunts, greeting his father over Bobby’s shoulder. “Enjoying yourself?” he asks, grinning through his uncle’s overly enthusiastic congratulations and thwacking him affectionately on the shoulders in return.

“Son, we’re having a tremendous time, the best.” John tells him, large smile and crinkled eyes adding to the weight of his words. “I’m so, so happy for you boys. I, ah, only wish your mother could be here to share this with you, Dean. She would be so proud, son. So, happy.” He gulps.

Dean moves to stand by his father and with an unspoken understanding pulls him into a hug. “Me too, dad.”

When they part, Dean’s spared from any more overly emotional moments by a series of warm pats and hearty handshakes from a group of djinn and humans that have gathered around them.

…

Now, more than two hours later, Dean’s more than ready for some alone time with his husband; the thrill running throughout his body because finally Castiel is, _now_ and f _orever_ , his husband, is a heady one.

So the second he sees everyone around them otherwise occupied, he seizes the opportunity and blinks them to the most private and secluded place he can think of, his new bottle.

As soon as they’re inside, he’s hit with a rush of nostalgia; the warmth, comfort and overwhelming sense of belonging that floods his system, screams _Home_ , to the new groom. And if he weren’t so turned on, he would realize that it’s mostly due to the fact that even though the interior is just as magnificent as the exterior, it’s also furnished in slightly larger and more plush versions of his own furniture, as well as select sentimental pieces from his childhood home.

“Thought I’d never get you alone.” Dean’s snarls - _because he definitely does not whine_ \- and reaches out to grab fistfuls of the djinni’s robes.

“Master!” Castiel yelps, grunting in surprise when his chest collides forcibly against Dean’s, pressing his face into the crook of his Master’s neck and shivering with pleasure when Dean impatiently rucks up the top of his robe, pushing aside the offensive yards of fabric to get to the naked skin underneath. “W-we should get back. I, I promised Charlie a d-dance.” He protests weakly, words hiccupped, sucking in short breaths.

“Nah-ah and no can do, Charlie can wait, but your husband can’t.” Dean objects, loving the way the word ‘husband’ curls possessively around his tongue. He presses heated kisses against the djinni’s stubbled jaw, dragging his tongue along the sharp edge, pausing to nibble on his is earlobe, sucking a path of hickeys towards his chest.

“But, I…urgh!” Castiel jerks, back arching, neck craning when Dean takes a nipple between his teeth and bites.

Hard.

But the exquisite pain is momentary, quickly replaced by the blissful torment of hot wet pressure pressing flat against the bruised teat.

“What were you saying?” Dean asks smirking cruelly against the over sensitized flesh, slurping and sucking wetly while the djinni unravels beneath him.

Dean has no intention of letting Castiel leave. As far as he’s concerned, the djinni is staying put; pinned underneath him, straddling him, or if he prefers, bent over on all fours. But he’s definitely not going anywhere, except between Dean’s legs or in his mouth, because, _right the fuck now_ , what he mostly wants is to consummate their marriage and he’s willing to do anything to get his husband to agree with his awesome idea, no matter how much begging he has to do.

So he dives back in, relying on his well honed and well earned skills as an amazing lay to chip away at the djinni’s resolve utilizing his best tools- hands, mouth, and his swoon worthy cock.

“Deeen…fuck!” Castiel gasps, the words choked, body wracked with shivers when Dean skates his fingernails, feather light, up his sides. “Dean…” he groans, a throaty rumble ripped out of him when Dean palms his clothed erection, fingers curling and cupping the exaggerated bulge.

Determined to give as good as he gets, Castiel pushes through the thick haze of lust he’s currently drowning in, wraps his hand around Dean’s neck and with his fingers tangled in the short hairs, guides his Master’s face until their lips meet. “Husband,” he growls possessively and surges forward for a kiss, tongue tangling with Dean’s, a hot wet slide tasting of champagne and arousal.

Dean presses closer and mounts the djinni, grinding and rubbing his lower body shamelessly against Castiel’s, pushing him deeper into the couch’s cushions, using his knee to push the djinni’s legs further apart.

“Cas, I don’t think I can wait till later…” he protests. “Baby, need…argh…” he grits out, hips automatically thrusting when he suddenly finds himself naked on top of the equally nude djinni, mouth actually salivating when he takes in Castiel’s gorgeous body writhing under him, hips bucking against Dean’s groin, in search of friction.

“Swear, you’re trying to kill me.” he says in a sexy murmur, _‘But what a way to go!’_ and lowers his head to kiss the adorable little furrow his comment put on his husband’s beautiful face.

Castiel pulls his mouth from Dean’s neck, abandoning the very impressive hickey he was contentedly sucking onto the rapidly beating pulse. “But Dean,” he starts to say, hips on pause, brow pinched, puzzled. “Killing you would be counterproductive to our marriage, our vows, our future, our chil-“

“Okay, uncle, uncle.” Dean cries and cuts him off with a kiss. “I was kidding, alright. Geesh, you’re so literal.” he teases, nibble. “So fucking adorable,” peck. “Fucking sexy,” wet kiss. “Got me so fucking hot…” bite, thumbs stroking the sharp peaks of Castiel’s hipbones.

 _‘Wait, what was that last thing he was about to say?’_ Dean belatedly wonders.

He pulls back to question the djinni when all cognitive thinking flies out the window. “Umph…groamph…ahhhrrhh!” he curses, grinding his teeth to stifle a scream when long warm fingers wrap expertly around his erection and tug, rendering him an incoherent pile of goo.

“Mmm…you like that, don’t you?” Castiel asks with a mischievous grin, thoroughly satisfied with Dean’s wonderfully expressive reactions to his touch.

He runs his hand slowly up his husband’s cock, pausing to rub gently at the slit with the pad of his thumb. The tease painful, rapturous.

Dean squirms.

Castiel flicks at the head when a bead of pre-cum oozes out. It’s agony, it’s delicious.

Dean thrashes.

The djinni gathers up the slick with the tip of a finger, then rubs it back on, spreading it down and around the long thick length of Dean’s dick.

“Fuck!” Dean bites out. “Fucking, fuck…” he curses, dangerously close to shooting his load, helpless to stop himself when he automatically begins thrusting through the loose tunnel of Castiel’s fingers.

“Was that too much for you?” Castiel tsks, plump lower lip sticking out in a provocative pout.

_‘The asshole!’_

Dean can’t help but roll his eyes in the face of Castiel’s cockiness.

_‘Adorable bastard.’_

His rhythm picks up, hips jacking a little faster, cock so hard it easily slips between the djinni’s slicked fist. He shifts his weight, angling himself so that he has to grab onto the couch’s back with one hand and lean with the other on the seat’s arm, fingers placed next to the djinni’s reclined head. “Fuck…feel so g-good…” he practically sobs, lip catching painfully between his teeth to stave off the tension that’s uncoiling rapidly in his groin.

Castiel tightens his grip when he feels Dean’s rhythm falter. He scoots further down the couch until his face is directly in front of Dean’s dick. He opens his mouth, tongue stretching out, ready to catch his husband’s cum. He reaches with his free hand for his own neglected cock and strips it a few times, easing his own ache. “Dean…beautiful.” He gasps, words broken, guttural, mouth watering in anticipation. “Cum for me. I want to taste you…”

Dean cums, his orgasm shooting out at Castiel’s command, as if his body had been waiting for permission from its _owner_ to finally let go and release.

And even though he was more than ready, Castiel still gags on the endless stream of semen that lands on his tongue, catches in his eyelashes, or splatters across his chest. He hums happily, savoring the warm sticky fluid, sucking it into his mouth, craning his neck to lap and lick wherever he can reach.

He pushes up on his elbows, head extending a fraction closer to Dean’s, and kisses him. It’s rough and demanding, mouth hot and wet against his Master’s. “Get on.” He orders. It comes out more like a guttural rumble than anything remotely resembling actual words, but he’s impatient and wants and needs. So not taking any chances, grabs Dean by the hips and manhandles him until he’s positioned him just so. Hovering just a breath’s space over his _hard as fuck cock_ , and gently, softly, delicately, urges Dean down.

“Umph!” Castiel chokes out eyes slamming shut from the intense pressure surrounding his dick as it fills Dean’s tight, tight heat.

“So fucking good…” Dean whimpers low and needy, sliding smooth and easy down Castiel’s dick until he’s fully seated.

They freeze for a moment, both adjusting to the heat and pressure, the size and fullness, eyes locked and expectant, each waiting for the other to blink and break the spell, to give and take what each desperately wants.

“C-Cas…move…” Dean gasps, breaking the spell. He lifts himself up but not completely off, the swollen crown of the djinni’s cock still buried in his ass, and waits an endless second before slamming back down hard and _oh so satisfyingly_ onto his husband’s dick, setting a brutal pace despite the fact that he’s already climaxed.

Dean feels feverish. His skin prickling with heat. Insatiable. Fucking _starving_ when it comes to Castiel. All of his senses are on overdrive, body and soul needing to claim and mark. “Touch me…” he grunts between thrusts, his own dick bobbing obscenely against his belly, leaving a slick smear, quickly hardening with the added stimulation to his prostate.

Castiel obeys, licks his palm and wraps his fingers, once again, around Dean’s dick. He bends his knees for better traction, digs the fingers from his other hand into the soft flesh of Dean’s ass, holding him in place, and bucks up, pounding into his Master’s sweet tight hole, matching Dean thrust for thrust, precision exact and right on target. “My wonderful Master-“ he pants. “My beautiful husband-“ he gasps next, words punctuated with each consecutive thrust. “My perfect djinni...g-going to make you so…so strong, so powerful…-“

“Y-yesss…” Dean hisses impaling himself deeper, grinding down with a little more force, riding his husband’s cock for all it’s worth. “Argh!” he grits out and throws his head back baring the muscular column of his throat. “Jesussss…Casssss…fu-ck!” he stutters, barely able to catch his breath, the words tumbling out, an unintelligible mess, literally getting the air fucked out of him.

With his fingers denting the meaty mass of Dean’s ass, Castiel angles his Master until he has an unobstructed view of his opening, nails biting, grip painful, white-knuckle tight. He stares, pupils almost all black, only a bright ring of luminous blue around the edges, transfixed by the deep pink pucker as it expands and swallows his substantial girth. “Fuck…” he huffs voice ragged, throat dry. He licks his lips, eyes blinking, can’t for the life of him see straight. He’s so fucking close.

He pushes up, lips locking with Dean’s. “Mine-” he growls, hoarse and breathy, grinning against the smile he feels pressing against his own lips.

“You better fucking believe it.” Dean snarls back and opening his mouth, grabs the djinni’s tongue and sucks it in, trading filthy kisses, a tug of war of give and take and take and take.

Castiel scrabbles from the onslaught, clawing helplessly against sweat-slicked limbs, edging closer and closer to the precipice. But when Dean wiggles, undulates his hips in a perfect little circle and clenches around his cock, it’s game over for the Marid.

“Ooomph!” he shouts and spills, cock pulsing, his body convulsing.

Dean almost falls over, has to clutch Castiel’s shoulders for support, instantly on edge from the surge of magic the djinni’s potent semen pumps into him in a seemingly endless flow. “Fuuuuck!” he grunts sucking in a shaky breath when Castiel bends nimbly forward and licks at the glistening tip of his bobbing dick, tipping Dean over with a second orgasm.

It’s too much. Dean falls heavily, a graceless lump on top of his equally dazed husband.

They lay stunned stupid for a long moment, only the thick sound of their labored breaths mixed with random groans, huffs, and soft chuckles, breaking the otherwise tranquil silence of Dean’s bottle.

They crowd against each other in the scant space of the couch’s seats, tangling their long, sweat-tacky limbs, lips almost touching, content just to breathe each other’s air, whispering words of _love_ and _devotion_ , throwing in a few _fucking_ _awesomes_ and _goddamns_ , for good measure. The scene, incredibly intimate and thoroughly satisfying.

A short while later, shifting under Dean’s dead weight, Castiel adjusts his position until he can press his forehead against his Master’s, hands traveling reverently over the cooling skin of his thoroughly sated mate.

“Dean,” he says in a hushed tone, fingers kneading and massaging, working their magic. “We should probably be getting back.”

“Mmmnnope…sleepy time.” Dean objects, quickly vetoing the suggestion and choosing instead to nuzzle closer against his husband and bask for a few more precious minutes in the bliss of their post-orgasm haze.

“Dean, we must.” Castiel insists, but doesn’t press, deciding that he too would much rather lay a while longer beside the wonderful warmth that radiates off his Master like a soothing balm.

He winds his arms around Dean’s pliant body, rests his face in the crook of his neck and inhales deeply, lips automatically puckering to press kisses against the soft skin. “I’m afraid we may not have a choice. I can feel Michael searching for us. Can’t you?” he asks then pulls away, brow knit with concern.

“Hm, oh yeah, guess I do, just tuning him and everybody else out. No biggie, I can sense they all know what we’re up to and aren’t coming after us for a little while yet.” he answers, impressing Castiel with his prowess in reading and separating the many voices clamoring all around them.

 _‘Dean, come on man! Don’t make me sic Balthazar after you_. _Get your asses back to your wedding, or_ _else!_ ’ Sam yells from where he and the rest of the bridal party have gathered to toast them.

“Damn.” Dean sighs and stretches out, grudgingly untangling himself from his husband’s limbs. “Guess our time’s up, baby, Samantha insists we get back.” He grumbles, but when he sees the perfectly debauched and well-fucked look on his djinni’s gorgeous face, he softens and smiles, _‘‘Cause, yeah, I put that look there!’_

“C’mere, you.” he says and taking Castiel’s face between his hands, kisses him long and deep, swallowing back a sob when the reality of the moment hits him. _‘I’m fucking kissing my fucking husband! How the fuck is this my life? When did I get so fucking lucky?’_

Dean’s head is spiraling hopelessly around these thoughts, these questions, when Castiel whispers softly, “Dean…”

That’s it. That’s all. Just hearing the djinni utter his name brings Dean’s head back to the now, and out of his ass.

“Ah, you ready?” Dean asks, surprisingly calm after his momentary, super-duper, mini freak-out, tilting his head forward to press a tender kiss against Castiel’s forehead.

**Hey, cut him some slack, he’s still Dean. Not like he’s ever going to be super-secure about deserving someone as awesome as Castiel, although, the djinni will make it his life’s mission to convince his Master otherwise.**

“M-hm, if you are?” The djinni hums in reply.

“Okay, then. Let’s get this party started.” Dean exclaims with honest excitement. He blinks and they’re both instantly dressed, once again, in their impressive wedding robes. He gives Castiel an appreciative once over, and with a second blink, transports them from his bottle to appear just outside of the main ballroom’s closed doors.

“Cas…” he says, glancing sideways, reaching for the djinni’s hand.

“Yes, Dean?” Castiel replies, twining their fingers together, head turning to look at his Master.

Dean drops his eyes, suddenly bashful, hesitant, taking a sudden interest in the marble floors. “Um, baby,” he starts, voice low, soft, intimate. “I ah…am really freakin happy to, ah…that we got married. Real happy. _A lot_. Just wanted you to know, okay.”

“I know.” Castiel answers.

_‘Confident asshole.’_

Dean can’t help but smirk at the djinni’s cool as fuck demeanor while he himself flounders clumsily with so much giddy happiness that he swears rainbows must be shooting out of his friggin asshole, he’s that fucking happy.

“Yeah, I bet you do.” He turns his body to face Castiel’s and wraps him in his arms. “I love you.” Dean says softly, exhaling the words on a long warm breath against the djinni’s mouth before leaning forward to plant a very passionate kiss against his delectable plush lips.

“I know.” Castiel, again, replies.

_‘Smug bastard.’_

_‘Wait, did he just Han Solo me?’_

…

**Six hours later: Dean and Castiel’s Bridal Suite Balcony**

“Mmmm…” Dean hums contentedly, pressing the front of his body against Castiel’s back, chin resting on his shoulder, thumbs hooked in the loops of the djinni’s low-slung jeans, fingertips dipping below the loose waistband. “Think everybody had a good time?”

“Of course they did.” Castiel answers immediately, leaning heavily against his Master’s hold, basking in the body-heat that easily chases away the evening’s chill.

They’re finally alone after bidding their last guest good-night. Completely exhausted but still too wired to retire for the night, they made their way to their wedding suite’s balcony hoping to unwind while enjoying the breathtaking views of their own private garden.

“Can’t believe Michael took off again.” Dean remarks after a long pause. He inhales deeply, entranced by the myriad scents and sounds from their lush surroundings.

“Yes…” Castiel starts, burrowing deeper into Dean’s embrace before continuing. “But at least this time we know why and where he’s gone.”

“You really think he’ll find him. Lucifer, I mean.” He asks, only marginally curious, Castiel’s brothers’ fucked up issues are not a priority, _at the moment_.

No, at the moment, Dean’s working up the courage to request for a repeat performance of their tryst with Castiel’s wicked twin. Just thinking of the thorough fucking he got from the dynamic duo gets him hard. Like _rock-fucking-hard_.

Castiel huffs a soft laugh and pushes back against the large bulge that’s poking him, not too subtly, against his ass. But instead of changing the subject, he takes his time to reflect on all that this oldest brother revealed to them on the circumstances surrounding his fallout with Lucifer and the ‘necessary’ reasons for his eventual banishment, and how deeply wounded it left him.

“I believe that Michael will, without a doubt, find him.” Castiel eventually replies. “They’re the eldest of my father’s children and were very close, once. Michael has been in perpetual torment since Lucifer left, and I’m sure Lucifer’s life has been a living hell since Michael drove him off. Their separation cannot have been easy for either of them, and I’m certain neither will rest until they’re together once again to reconcile and resolve their issues.”

Dean mulls that over for a beat and nods in agreement. “Hmph,” he snorts. “Man, and I thought Sammy and I were close.” He adds with a huff and a chuckle. “Well, good luck to him, I suppose.”

After another long pause, the mood darkens. “Guess that means you’ll be popping back here more often while he’s out and about in search of his long lost bro, huh?” he asks with a scowl, not at all pleased with the probability that his new husband will be spending more time away from him.

“Yes, but I’m asking Balthazar to stand in for me when my duties prove to be too exhausting.” Castiel answers and swivels his hips, reminding Dean’s cock of its convenient position against the djinni’s plump ass and hopes it will smooth out the grumble that has settled in his Master’s tone.

“What?” Dean asks truly puzzled, because as far as he knows, there’s nothing and no one powerful enough to tire out his all-powerful husband.

Except, a good fuck.

_Oh._

“Wait, what the hell kind of duties are we talking about, here? I mean what can possibly wear you out?” He knows the answer all too well, but wants to hear it from the djinni’s mouth. “Dude, you’re like super-man.” he argues using both hands to grab possessively at the sweet swell of his husband’s ass.

“No, not super-man, just a djinni.” Castiel corrects, grunting from the painful pinch, losing his balance and falling against Dean’s firm body. “Well, a pregnant one, in any case.” He adds in a low voice, casually, as if of no real import, unaffected and completely accustomed to Dean’s rough handling. _Fucking loving it._

“…!!!!!!!!!!!!!!...”

“Dean?” Castiel asks concerned when he turns his head and sees Dean’s jaw gaping comically wide.

“Whoa, wha…huh??!!” Dean stammers stepping back and holding his hands up. “Cas, how? I mean, you…you’re a _man_. Wrong equipment and all, right?”

“Man?” Castiel hums, pondering the word. “Hm…no, not a man. Male, but not a human one. I’m a djinni.” He states matter-of-fact.

He pulls Dean back into his arms, and gazing steadily into his eyes, repeats, slowly, clearly, surely and with no room for doubt. “A _pregnant_ one, which means, _you_ are going to be a father.”

“Father? Me?” Dean asks, voice small, eyes searching, stunned, heart thudding heavily in his chest, lightheaded and downright punchy. It’s more than he’s ever hoped for. Dared to hope for.

Castiel grins and nods, smile small and pleased, eyes large and sparkling.

“I‘m gonna be a father.” Dean says this time his words are heavy with hope and his gaze dreamy, feeling the truth of his husband’s words deep down to his very core.

When the djinni confirms with another small nod, the floodgates burst open.

Dean’s overwhelmed with an influx of emotions, elation, heart wrenching joy, staggered by the rush of _love,_ and _mine_ , and _ours_ , that races at break-neck speed through his system, all because of his impending fatherhood.

Whooping loudly, fist pumping the air, he bends low and scoops Castiel into his arms, twirling him on the spot and yelling at the top of his lungs, “Fuck, yeah!” and “I’m gonna be a daddy!” All thoughts on the mechanics or on the how to’s of a male conception, regardless of species, completely disregarded.

…

Later, much, much later, sated and sleepy after _definitely not begging_ for another ride on Castiel’s cock while sucking off the djinni’s magical twin, Dean crowds around his husband and nestles into the warmth that quickly drags him under.

The newlyweds, arms and legs tangled, speak in hushed voices, whispering tender words of _love_ and _babies_ and _forever_ , between slow lazy kisses.

And if Dean decides to wait until later –much, much, later- to question the inner workings of the djinn, then that’s when Castiel, with the aid of a few carefully selected props, will more than gladly educate his husband on his reproductive system and casually let slip his own wish for a house full of their babies.

But that’s for another story.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jamil El-Malak Castiel translates to 'The Beautiful Angel, Castiel' cuz he is
> 
> Dean's vows are from the book of Ruth
> 
> Castiel's vows are from the Bible 1Corinthians 13, tweaked a bit for the purposes of this fic

**Author's Note:**

> Sayyid means Master  
> Habibi means My Beloved/Darling  
> 'Na'am, anta hal habibi sahib, wa ana djinn.' means loosely and according to Google, 'Yes, my darling, I am a djinn.' Again, this is super loose.


End file.
